A late first season story. Written for the “We Two” Inspirational Story Challenge.

Author’s Note: This story utilizes nine different story challenge pics from Seaview Stories’ “A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words,” contest list. I nearly managed to include a picture for every chapter, until Chapters 9, 10, and 11; at which point, the story just begged to be told without constraints. However, I resumed my little game for the final two chapters. The challenge pics have been identified in parenthesis under the chapter headings. Enjoy. Lynn : )

Operation Traitor-Patriot

by Lynn

Chapter One

We Two

A salty breeze of fresh sea air brushed against Captain Crane's face, as he strolled along the wood planked boardwalk of the business establishments in the port town. The docks weren't nearly large enough for a vessel the size of Seaview, necessitating the need for the crew to come ashore aboard rubber zodiacs in shifts. Though it was Lee’s first visit to this particular seaport, Seaview’s crew was apparently well-acquainted with what the port had to offer and had displayed great interest in their shore leave. Pubs and bars lined the streets and were by far, the business of choice during the evening hours. Even without Seaview's crew descending upon the docks, there were ample sailors and town patrons to keep the pubs in customers on any given night.

“How much further is it?” Lee asked curiously while silently wondering how his boss and good friend had found this out-of-the-way tavern in the first place; he had lost track of how many drinking establishments they had passed about half a dozen bars ago.

“Just down the boardwalk a bit,” Admiral Nelson replied casually, enjoying both the stroll and the fresh air after their extended mission in the depths. He was, in fact, in a particularly good mood, deciding that this annual tradition of visiting Finnegan’s would be all the better this year. The last time he had been here was with John Phillips, Seaview’s previous captain, just two months before he was murdered in a plot to stop Seaview’s mission to the Arctic. He frowned slightly at the memory and purposed to dwell on happier times. The melancholy wasn’t unexpected. It was in fact, typical of his emotions when he visited. The memories associated with this tavern ran the gamut of the high-spirits of victory, to the deep pain of loss. Even so, he found the good times here worth the sad remembrances. Indeed, he came to raise his glass to those very memories and it was for that purpose that he had made this yearly trek. His intention to share such a personal and private visit with Lee was a testament to the friendship and trust they had developed since his captaincy a little over a year ago.

The sun had set hours ago and the coolness of the evening had brought in the familiar fog this area was known for, adding ambience to the nostalgic boardwalk lined with classic old-fashioned spiraled light posts and adorned with lamps that looked as old as the boardwalk itself.

“Were you running from SPs when you found this place?” Lee smirked with a half-smile to go along with his good-natured tease, implying that there had to be a reason why Harry had found this out-of-the way pub in the first place.

“As a matter of fact, we were,” Harry replied with a side-glance as he motioned toward their destination, about four buildings ahead. “It’s actually a funny story; I was an ensign at the time. Remind me to tell you about it some time.”

“Why not now?” Lee asked as they arrived at their journey’s end, reaching for the heavy wooden door and pulling it open for the admiral to precede him.

The glow of bare bulbs hanging from slow moving ceiling fans lit the tavern adequately. The creak of the well-worn wooden floor under their oxford dress shoes invited a few over-the-shoulder glances from the town’s regulars, while the visiting sailors ignored the new arrivals. The two officers sidled up to an empty spot at the end of the bar and waited for the bartender.

“Be with you in a few minutes, gents,” the bar-keeper said without looking over as Harry let loose a thin, tight-lipped smiled. When he finally looked their way, his aged face lit up in recognition. “Well, glory be! If it isn’t Nelson, me lad!” he bellowed out. “Oh, but it’s Admiral now. I shan’t be forgetting that!” he added with a wink, tossing a well-used towel to rest over his shoulder as he stepped forward.

“Hello Mac,” Harry replied, his grin widening.

“Good to see you Admiral Nelson, and who is this strapping young lad with you? You haven’t forgot your manners, have you?” he joked, hastily wiping his hands on another towel wrapped around his waist before reaching out for a shake.

“Lee Crane, meet Mac, the best bar-keeper in the business. Just don’t order the Blarney Special,” he added with a wink.

“Mackenzie’s the name, but all the lads call me Mac,” the jubilant man replied as he shook Lee’s hand vigorously. “And a commander he be! Such a young lad to be wearing all those fancy bars,” he continued, slapping both hands down on the weathered oak bar and leaning forward. “Now lad, I know what this old sea salt will have,” he said with a nod toward Harry. “What’s your fancy?”

Lee smiled at the colorful bartender. “Beer,” he answered, leaning against the bar and deciding to forego Harry’s bait regarding the Blarney Special.

“A beer it be,” Mac acknowledged, reaching for two large mugs from the old oak case behind him, its patina boasting of years of liquid cheer served in this charming bar from yesteryear. Mac whistled an Irish tune cheerily, obviously pleased at seeing the admiral, as he filled both mugs with an extra hearty beer bearing impressive heads of foam on top.

Lee grinned when he saw that Harry’s choice was a draft as well.

“What? No Blarney Special today?” he joked good-naturedly.

“I’ve had it several times, but only when I’ve had a good two day leave to sleep it off,” Harry answered with his own grin as Mac returned.

“Here be your drinks, lads,” Mac announced, thumping the frothy mugs before each one, and noticing Lee’s raised eyebrow. “Oh, I know he be an admiral and all, but I’ve known Harry here since he was a wee ensign and still wet behind the ears!” A hearty laugh followed as Mac left the officers to their drinks to tend to other patrons.

“He’s quite a character,” Lee noted good-naturedly as he reached for his mug.

“He’s one of the best; a bit flamboyant, but a fine man.”

“Leave it to you to find an Irish pub in the middle of the South Pacific,” Lee added, barely hiding his smile behind his raised mug. He took a drink and smiled appreciatively. “That’s good stuff.”

“Only the best here at Finnegan’s,” the Admiral responded nostalgically.

“So, what about that story of how you found this place? I mean, Harriman Nelson running from SPs?” Lee coaxed, amused at the possibilities.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly us they were after, but we apparently fit their descriptions pretty well, and we didn’t want to spend our liberty sorting it out. So, we took off running and ducked inside once we were clear.”

“We?”

“Jiggs and I, it was our last assignment together before we were transferred to different classes at Groton.”

Lee nodded, he was aware that Starke’s rotation for submarine training at Groton, Connecticut was a full six months before Harry.

“Well, Shore Patrol caught up with us,” Harry continued with an obvious twinkle in his blue eyes as Lee took the last swig from his mug, urging him to continue with a raised brow. “But we managed to duck behind a couple of chairs,” he said with a tilt of his head toward a currently occupied table in the corner. “The chairs happened to be occupied at the time by some very lovely ladies who found the situation amusing. They kept up our ruse by urging us to hide under the table where the table cloth would conceal us.”

“Under the table?” Lee smirked.

“Errrr, yes,” Harry replied clearing his throat and grinning. “And as you can imagine, two sailors under the table with two sets of feminine legs staring back at us was quite the experience.”

Lee took that moment to chuckle out loud as Harry continued, completely unfazed.

“We were of course, both officers and gentlemen and behaved ourselves grandly, to which we were rewarded with the company of the ladies, I did tell you that they were quite lovely, didn’t I?” he asked rhetorically as Mac placed two more mugs before them. “Once the SPs left, we learned that the two were sisters, daughters as it turned out, of a visiting admiral whose family had flown out for a holiday of sorts. Now, that part we didn’t find out until nearly the end of the evening when Daddy Admiral came in to collect his offspring from the pub, which he considered too rough for his unescorted daughters.”

Lee laughed, barely keeping in his swallow and working hard to keep the decorum his rank demanded, but he was clearly enjoying the tale.

“Fortunately, for us, the admiral was pleased that his daughters were in our care, and the young ladies were kind enough not to mention the fact that they had saved us from shore patrol, or that we had taken refuge under their table. So, we were allowed to escort them back to the hotel, in the presence of the admiral of course,” he finished, taking a swig of his beer and smiling thinly.

“And?” Lee goaded.

“And we said goodnight, adieu, farewell… and never saw the young ladies again at the request of Daddy Admiral,” Harry finished with his own chuckle.

Lee joined in the laughter, his eyes twinkling with the humorous story the Admiral had so grandly shared. He had come to really appreciate these moments. It was more than the colorful stories Harry shared of his exciting life, or the camaraderie the two shared. It was a special friendship with a man he respected greatly; a mentor who had earned his trust and admiration; and a father-like friendship that wasn’t pushy or overbearing.

Harry’s chuckle waned and his smile turned almost melancholy as he swallowed another mouthful from his mug and stared off into the distance.

“So, that explains how you found the place,” Lee said, noticing Harry’s change of mood and sensing that there was more to this story. “But why do you keep coming back year after year?”

Harry’s cheek twitched as he blew a heavy breath, fueled by an apparent burden he kept deep inside.

“There’s a lot of history in this place; a lot of memories. Most are good…” he answered vaguely.

Lee nodded and leaned forward, wrapping both hands around his mug. “You don’t have to tell me, Admiral,” he replied, realizing he had stumbled upon something far more private than he had anticipated.

Harry cracked a small smile, purposely pushing through the heavy emotions this place always elicited. “I’ll tell you about it someday, Lee. Right now, let’s just say that I come here to salute old comrades, as well as to visit old friends,” he said with a tilt of his head toward Mac.

“To old comrades then,” Lee toasted, raising his glass respectfully, knowing full-well the pain of comrades lost and privileged to have been included in this moment.

“And to new ones as well,” Harry added clinking mugs and offering tribute to his present company. He emptied the contents and called to Mac. “How about one more for the road?”

“Just one more?” the bartender inquired from the other end of the bar, his once flaming red hair dulled grey by age. “Why, I remember when this lad could drink his mates under the table. Of course, he’d have to be helped out the door at the end of the night, but that was usually with the help of a few fair lasses,” he added with a belly laugh as he brought over three mugs, setting one before each of the officers and taking a mug for himself.

“You, my friend, can still spin quite a yarn,” Harry replied with a grin in faux admonishment for spilling the beans on his past drinking escapades. “Now, what do we drink to this year, Mac?”

“He asks me the same thing every year,” Mac explained to Lee, “And every year we drink to the same thing,” he said lifting he glass and speaking in a rich Irish accent. “May the winds of fortune sail you. May you sail a gentle sea.” He paused as at the somber sentiment and then broke into a smile as he completed the toast. “And may it always be the other guy, who says this drink’s on me!” he finished to a hearty “Slainte”* from all three men, who proceeded to guzzle down the entire contents before completing the toast by slamming the empty mug down on the bar in a hearty thud. “Till next year, Admiral Nelson,” he added with a wide grin and a handshake. “And you too, Commander Crane. You hold your liquor as well as Admiral Nelson here,” he complimented.

Harry pulled out a large bill to generously cover both the drinks and the tip and slid it under his empty mug.

“Until next year, Mac,” he announced as he and Lee stepped away from the bar.

“And so it shall be, Admiral me Lad,” Mac returned with a nod before clearing away the empty mugs and returning whistling an Irish tune gaily rendered as he wiped down the bar.

* * * * *

“Thank you, Admiral, next time it’s on me,” Lee offered, to Harry’s dismissive nod as they walked along the boardwalk. Lee took a deep breath of the salty sea air into his lungs as they walked a leisurely pace back to Seaview. “You’ve made a point to visit here every year since you were an ensign?” he asked casually.

“Well, not every year. There were quite a few years out of my control, but I’ve made it a priority to make it back here one way or the other for a good part of those years.”

Lee nodded, he understood that whatever memory had prompted these yearly visits was extremely personal and private for Harry, and he had no intention of probing further.

“It used to be a bitter trip,” the admiral admitted, sliding his hands into his pockets and slowing their pace, presumably to ensure their privacy. “But Mac’s perceptiveness and good ear turned it to almost bearable.”

“Almost?” Lee questioned as his brow tightened in concern.

“Lost shipmates are never forgotten, you know that,” Harry spoke philosophically. Lee nodded. “I used to come here to mourn them, but now I’d like to believe I come here to celebrate them. That toast Mac gave?” Harry continued rhetorically. “That’s the toast my shipmates and I used when we visited here nearly twenty-five years ago. I sort of blurted it out to Mac on one of my returning visits and from that time on he’s the one who makes the toast for me… for all of us.”

Lee breathed in deeply, releasing a silent blow of breath for the heavy emotions of the moment. He’d known Harriman Nelson long enough to know that candid moments like these were rare and that he’d been entrusted with a very personal part of Harry’s past.

“I’m honored to have shared the toast with you,” he replied solemnly, understanding from his own experiences the weight a man silently carried when comrades are lost.

Harry smiled slightly and then nodded, allowing the smile to fade before releasing a cleansing breath. “What do you say we grab a late dinner before heading back to the boat,” he stated more than asked and more than ready to move on.

“Sounds good, got any suggestions?” Lee asked rhetorically knowing Harry already had this port town well-scoped out and no doubt would point them in them in the direction of the best restaurant on the island.

“There’s a little hole-in-the-wall that serves…”

A blinding pain interrupted his sentence and then there was nothing but blackness.

Chapter Two

Waiting

A bright light greeted a splitting headache as Harry groaned, followed by a bout of nausea that only partially settled as he instinctively reached for his stomach.

“Easy there, Admiral. You’ve had quite a jolt,” a familiar voice replied.

Harry moaned while flailing a weak hand to deflect the blasted light pen currently piercing like lasers beams into his now open eyes.

“Jolt?”

“You took a hard hit to the head, compounded by a second one when you fell. It’s a good thing it wasn’t concrete you landed on,” Jamie explained to Harry’s tightened forehead as he screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple.

“What?” he replied, his lucidness barely catching up to his wakefulness.

“Is he going to be all right?” another voice joined in.

“Yes, the confusion is normal and to be expected even with a minor concussion.”

By now Harry was fully awake and equally annoyed by both his headache and Jamie and Chip’s discussion, as if he were incapable of understanding their not-so-complex conversation.

“Would you two stop talking over me like I’m not here and tell me why my blasted head is splitting in two right now?” Harry bellowed, though at much lower decimals than he was normally capable when not lying in Sickbay.

“Of course, Admiral,” Dr. Will Jamieson replied, his bedside manner never wavering despite his patient’s outburst. “First, you know the routine.”

Harry swallowed back the gripe too readily available to roll off his tongue just now and answered dutifully.

“Harriman Nelson, Admiral, retired,” he answered specifically while demonstrating that his mind was operating quite efficiently despite his headache.

“And the last thing you remember?” Jamie continued.

This thought took a moment to process before Harry was able to grasp the memories completely. “Finnegan’s,” he recalled. “We left Finnegan’s and were heading for a late dinner.”

“You and Lee?” Chip clarified to Jamie’s frown.

“Well of course me and Lee,” Harry returned grumpily while reaching for the sore spot on the back of his head.

“What else do you remember, Admiral?” Chip probed as Jamie reluctantly allowed the inquiry.

“Just talking with Lee as we…”

Harry stopped himself mid-sentence when he realized that while he expected to see these two particular faces upon wakening in Sickbay, that there was one noticeably missing.

“Where’s Lee? And you haven’t answered my question. What happened?” his questions fired off in rapid succession.

“You don’t remember any altercation?” Chip continued.

“Blast it, Chip! I remember Finnegan’s, walking on the boardwalk, and then…” he paused to draw the next memory. “A blinding pain and then nothing else until I woke up here,” he finished, much calmer and taking a noticeable glance about Sickbay’s other bunks, which were currently empty.

“Kowalski and Patterson discovered your service cap on the boardwalk and found you in a nearby alley.” Harry’s insistent glare urged him to continue. “Lee was nowhere to be found. He’s gone. There’s no trace; no clue what happened to him except for this,” he said, referring to the service cap he’d been holding all along at his side, something Harry hadn’t noticed until this very moment.

“Gone? You mean abducted?”

“Aye sir, that’s what ONI thinks. We’ve already checked the hospitals, police station, all the ‘usual’ places,” he said, inferring that the morgue had also been checked.

Harry frowned, realizing that a lot had happened between his last memories and waking just now. “How long have I been out?”

“We can’t say for sure, but Kowalski found you about 2230.”

“We left Finnegan’s around 2000,” Harry recalled, lowering his eyes before raising them slowly. “How much time have I lost?”

“It’s 1400, the following day, Sir. You were in and out of consciousness, but not lucid enough for questions,” he explained to Jamie’s affirming nod.

“And that questioning is now weighing heavily on my patient, Chip,” Seaview’s doctor chimed in.

“That’s all right, Doc,” Harry placated, his face holding all the concern of a man whose best friend had just vanished. “You said you contacted ONI?” he asked reaching to rub his temple. He had caught the fact that Jamie described his concussion as minor, and reasoned that his three rather large beers the night before had combined with the concussion to keep him out this long.

“Aye Sir. I spoke to Admiral Johnson personally. He’s already been in contact with the island officials and has confirmed that there was no known threat against Lee, as least as far as they know.”

“How about the boardwalk? Didn’t anyone see what happened?”

“We’ve done a little leg work, but nothing was reported. I’m sending teams and guessing that any potential eyewitnesses might be more available during the evening hours.”

“Yes… of course,” he said, trying to rise out of bed.

“Where do you think you’re going, Admiral?” Jamie asked rhetorically, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and easily maneuvering his patient back down.

“Blast it, Jamie! I’ve got to do something!” he bellowed while simultaneously trying to fight back nausea and a spinning head.

“You are doing something,” Jamie countered firmly. “You’re lying in that bed and giving that hard head of yours a chance to recover!”

It wasn’t often that Jamie lost his cool, and even in Harry’s compromised state he realized that. He waved Jamie’s restraining hand off and reached for his head, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to abet the growing headache.

“I want to be kept in the loop on your findings, Chip,” he said instead, surrendering to both the doctor’s medical rank and the fact that he privately doubted he could stand without help at the moment anyway; the latter not something he was willing to admit openly, mind you.

“Aye, Sir.”

“What else have you learned, Chip?” he asked, not quite able to hide his discomfort.

“We don’t know if he’s still on the island or not. The port master has provided a list of vessels sailing last evening, but you know there are half a dozen harbors for smaller vessels that don’t require the port master’s assistance or a float plan for that matter. ONI is checking on the airport, but we’re hoping he’s still on the island.”

Harry breathed deeply, his forehead wrinkled with deep lines of both pain and concern. “Ransom note?” he asked in a noticeably short sentence.

“No Sir, only…”

Harry’s eyes brightened. “Only what?” he demanded impatiently. His headache was getting worse and he needed all the information he could get before his body demanded and received, the rest it was currently insisting upon.

“There was only one set of drag marks into the alley, it looks to me that Lee was the intended target and probably loaded straight into a waiting vehicle. But Sir, anyone trying to abduct an officer for ransom would know that an admiral is worth more than a commander and why not take both of you for that matter?”

“What are you saying, Chip?”

“I don’t believe Lee was abducted for ransom. I think this was… personal.”

Harry sighed in agreement. It was no surprise, Lee’s ONI work had garnered him some serious enemies, not to mention a few from the last year aboard Seaview.

“Admiral,” Jamie interrupted, “I must insist you rest now.”

Harry acknowledged with a small nod. “Keep me informed, Chip.”

“Aye Sir,” Morton replied stepping away, his own worry masked behind a well-practiced command face, yet easily read in his expressive blue eyes.

Harry settled back, reluctantly surrendering to Jamie’s medical order. He needed a few hours to rest and get past the splitting headache. After that, he fully intended on being right in the mix of things to find out just what had happened to his captain and friend.

* * * * *

“Is he still out?” the grey-haired man asked coldly.

“I gave him another shot. I told you he’d be out for at least another eight hours.”

He ignored the attitude of his much younger accomplice, much more interested instead in the prize that lay before him as he lightly nudged the shoulder of his bound captive with his boot to test for himself. A soft breath indicated that his prisoner was still unconscious but much too aware of his surroundings for his captor’s taste. He stood a moment watching for signs of wakefulness before suddenly drawing his boot back and issuing a swift kick to his side. Though the heartless action invoked an uncomfortable groan from the man whose hands were tied behind his back, his prisoner remained inanimate for the blow he had received.

“I don’t want him waking just yet,” the man replied; his dark black hair had turned grey years ago, and his face was noticeably aged beyond what was normal, even for a man in his sixties. He watched without a hint of compassion as his accomplice administered a second hypo. His brown eyes had lost the luster and vitality of life years ago, as his uncaring gaze bore down upon his prisoner. Though he was close to achieving his hard-earned revenge, the bitterness in his heart could not be satisfied until his plan was fully accomplished. He had no intention of killing Crane outright; that would be too easy a death for him. He had something else in mind. The thought brought no comfort or satisfaction, but only fueled the darkness in a heart that had lost its respect for life years ago.

“He won’t,” the younger man assured and stepped back, his mood even darker than more.

“Good,” he replied coolly, silently contemplating the final steps to a well-thought out plan.

Chapter Three

Through the Abyss

“Two Beers,” the bartender announced, plopping two frothy golden beverages before the two officers.

“Thanks,” Chip said, reaching for his mug as the barkeeper moved on to other customers. He turned and lean his back against the bar, taking a drink while scanning the establishment stealthily.

“What now, sir?” the slender dark-haired officer beside him asked quietly, after taking a tentative taste of his own brew.

“Drop the sir. We’re off-boat and we don’t want to look official,” the blond admonished quietly then added a smile to keep the mood light in appearances.

“Aye s...,” Lt. O’Brien started. “Uh… Chip,” he corrected. He wasn’t used to the intrigue and although he and the Exec had a good working relationship, he was still a subordinate officer. So, the younger officer cleared his throat and took another drink in an effort to play his role.

“Just keep an eye out for anyone paying undue attention to us,” Chip added casually. Their search thus far for clues had come up empty and though it was a long shot, his plan was to make themselves “available” should Lee’s disappearance turn out to be a crime of convenience, rather than a planned attack. It was most definitely a long shot, but he had the crew out attempting to interview anyone who may have seen the Admiral and Lee the night before, and this just seemed like a possibility he couldn’t ignore. Perhaps it wasn’t “personal” as he had told Harry, maybe Lee was a convenient target for some unknown reason. At any rate, he wanted to strike while the iron was hot and before the cold trail got any colder. He turned back toward the bar attempting to present a picture of a couple of care-free officers enjoying their liberty.

“Another beer,” he ordered, catching the bartender’s attention. “Come on Bobby, drink up, we’re supposed to be having fun,” he teased good-naturedly and loud enough for listening ears to hear, while simultaneously encouraging the younger officer to ease into his role.

“Aye, aye Sir!” Bobby replied exuberantly, raising his mug and downing the remaining brew in an attempt to play up the superior officer's request as an order he was happy to comply with.

“That’s more like it,” Chip replied approvingly, glad that Bobby was finally loosening up and continuing to act the part of a happy sailor on liberty.

“Excuse me, Commander,” a soft, sultry voice addressed from behind.

Chip turned, switching on both his smile and his charm, as his blue eyes twinkled taking in the sight of the beautiful young brunette addressing him. “Well, hello there,” he replied, not sure if this was a break in the investigation or not; but he figured that even if it wasn’t anything more than a pickup, it would further their cause and keep up appearances.

“My name is Candace,” she introduced excitedly while sliding onto the empty bar stool beside him. “You’re from that big submarine out in the harbor, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” the tall blond officer replied, smiling to confirm his interest in her company.

“I thought so,” she answered, turning and addressing another young lady sitting at a table across the room. “I was right, Jenny!” waving her hand to encourage the pretty blonde to join them. “It’s the Seaview, right?”

“Yes, I’m Chip,” he introduced offering a gentlemanly hand.

“I know. Commander Morton, right?”

“Yes. How did you know?” he asked, more than a little curious.

“Anyone who’s anyone knows about the Seaview, Silly,” she answered with a playful roll of her eyes. “This is Jenny, I’m sorry but I don’t know your name, Lieutenant?”

“Uh… Bob, Miss; Bob O’Brien,” he answered as Jenny wrapped an appreciative arm around his, while cuddling up next to the dark-haired officer.

“So, what are you ladies drinking tonight?” Chip inquired, hoping their obvious flirtations were leading them somehow closer to their real goal of finding Lee. Even if they weren’t involved in his disappearance, he hoped to gain some useful information. Candace and Jenny obviously knew their naval rank insignias well; he surmised they were attracted to officers and perhaps frequented these bars often. It wouldn’t be the first time a port girl came-on to an officer in the hopes of securing an exciting life by marrying an officer and a gentleman.

“Beer,” Candace answered for the two.

“Beer it is,” Chip replied, allowing the pretty brunette to snuggle up closer as he motioned for the bartender’s attention. “Two beers for the ladies here,” he ordered with a carefree smile. “Captain Crane’s going to be sorry he missed out on this,” he threw out hoping for a bite.

“Captain Crane?!” Candace chimed in excitedly. “I’d really love to meet him. Such a dreamboat, too bad he left so soon last night,” she continued with a starry gaze.

Chip tried to cover his obvious interest, opting instead to appear to make conversation. “You saw him here last night?”

Candace put on a pouty face mixed with the right amount charm to keep her present company interested, but she was clearly disappointed.

“Not exactly. We came in only a few minutes before he left. He was standing at the bar with that heavenly Admiral Nelson and before we could work up our courage, the two were gone.” Her pouty lips quivered in disappointment before she recovered and cuddled into his arm even tighter.

“Hey did you hear that, Bobby? Looks like the Captain’s loss is our gain,” Chip replied playfully and noticing the music playing in the background. “Would you like to dance?”

“Sure, why not,” she answered, unsuccessfully trying to hide her delight and seeking to not look too anxious.

Chip led her to the dance floor, a small area that had been cleared of tables for just this occasion, as they danced to the music piped in from the local radio station. Bobby followed suit, inviting Jenny out as well while the music played a soft, sultry selection.

Chip breathed in the delightful fragrance of her perfume as he placed a hand around her waist and gently snuggled her close. She truly was beautiful, but his mind was far from the pick-up game sailors were known for playing on their liberty. She responded to his strong but gentle embrace, by laying her head contently on his shoulder as they danced.

“I’m going to have to give Crane a hard time for what he missed out on.”

Her soft giggles affirmed she enjoyed his comment.

“He must have called it a night early, to have missed out on you,” he phished, leaning his head down to whisper in her ear.

“I guess,” she nearly sighed back, getting somewhat lost in his embrace. “We were bar-hopping. We came in around ten, just before they left. If they had stayed a minute or two longer, I bet we could have kept them busy for a few hours,” she said before realizing how brazen that sounded and giggled in response. “But I’m sure you’re much more fun,” she added, attempting to keep Morton happy and interested in her affection. He was a big catch and she intended on making the most of their night.

“You bet I am,” he promised, holding her pleasantly tighter, invoking another happy sigh from his dance partner. “Maybe they made another stop. Did you happen to see anyone else leave with them, or maybe right afterwards?”

“Why?” she asked, stopping their swaying motion and looking up at him inquisitively.

Chip lowered his mouth and nuzzled her ear. “Because… I want to rub it in good that he missed out on the most beautiful girl in port.”

“Oh!” she responded, delighted with both his words and his hot whispers in her ear. “Mmmm, people are always coming and going here, but someone did leave right after them. He was sitting over there at that table,” she gestured with a nod to the corner of the room. “I remember, because we almost went after them, to you know, introduce ourselves, but he got to the door first and stood there watching. I guess he was getting his courage up to meet the admiral too. Anyway, the moment passed and a good-looking guy asked me to dance…” she shrugged her shoulder, realizing she had said way too much and drew a seductive hand across the back of his neck, deflecting her mistake and actively trying to keep his attention. “Besides, I’m much happier here dancing with you,” she purred.

“So, what did he look like?” Chip asked as she settled back onto his shoulder.

“The guy I danced with?”

“No, the guy that followed Crane and Nelson.”

“Some older guy, I don’t pay much attention to his type,” she answered, before stopping and scrunching her nose curiously. “Why?”

Chip took her by the hand and led her back to the bar. “Mac,” he called. “This is Candace; she said she saw a man take an interest in Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane. She says he sat over in the corner,” he relayed to the listening bartender. “What did he look like, Candace? Middle-aged? Dark or blond hair?”

“I don’t know. Just some older guy, you know in his 60s or something. Dark and greying I guess,” she answered obediently but somewhat flabbergasted at the turn of events; it certainly wasn’t her idea of a good time. “Is this twenty questions or something?”

“He wasn’t a regular, lad,” Mac answered, ignoring Candace’s growing disappointment. “I know my regulars, I do.”

Chip nodded and turned toward the pretty brunette, his carefree attitude of earlier shed in favor of the seriousness of his pursuit.

“Candace, it’s very important that you try to remember everything you can about that night. Captain Crane’s life may very well depend on it,” he asked as Bobby joined him at the bar with Jenny by his side.

“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?” she stated, donning her pouty face once again.

“I’m sorry for misleading you, Candace, I really am, but Captain Crane disappeared last night…”

“Maybe he found a girl to spend the night with and… you know?” she shrugged.

Chip shook his head in the negative. “Admiral Nelson was injured in an attack, by the time we found him there was no sign of Captain Crane; and he’s just not like that,” he added defending the one-night stand insinuation.

Candace studied his intense, no-nonsense countenance. “For real? You’re not teasing me?”

“Jenny says he was wearing a blue pea coat,” Bobby jumped in, having done his fair share of ferreting out of information as well.

“But he was wearing cowboy boots,” Jenny interrupted. “And no sailor wears cowboy boots,” she added proudly.

Chip nodded at the significance of her observation. Perhaps, whoever it was may have wanted to melt in with the crowd, but failed in the small detail of the shoes he chose.

“Wow. So, you think this sailor-cowboy had something to do with it?” Candace asked, sliding onto the barstool and not-so-subtly tapping the counter for another beer.

Chip nodded to Mac for another round, hoping to keep Candace engaged with the endeavor. He was pretty sure her attention span was going to be limited, despite the fact that Jenny was holding Bobby’s hand affectionately and seemed genuinely interested.

“I’m honestly not sure, but so far, this is our only clue. Is there anything else either one of you can remember that might help us find Captain Crane?” Chip questioned, his forehead wrinkled in concern and his blue eyes imploring her cooperation.

“Ummm,” Candace said, biting her bottom lip and getting slightly lost in those deep blue orbs staring back at her. He smiled slightly hoping to encourage her, but she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders in resignation.

“He was just an older man, other than that scar on his hand…”

“Wait a minute,” Chip interjected. “A scar?”

“Yeah, he was holding the door open just a crack, and I was watching, trying to decide if I was going to chase after them; that’s why I noticed.”

“Can you describe the scar?” he inquired.

“I don’t know; it was all over the back of his hand. Like a…” She struggled for the right words.

“Like it had been burnt or something,” Jenny intervened. “A real bad burn.”

“Any other scars?” Chip asked, exchanging glances with Bobby.

“No, like Jenny said, he wore a coat,” Candace shrugged. “Do you think it’s important?”

“What do you think, Mac?” he asked, ignoring her last question as he tried to determine how important these facts were.

The Irish bartender slung the white rag over his shoulder and leaned forward against the bar. “I don’t remember the gent, but if he was sitting at a table the waitress would have taken his order. Let me see if he left any sort of impression on the lass,” he said, moving to the end of the bar and motioning the cocktail waitress over.

Chip watched with interest as Mac questioned her briefly and then returned.

“She said she remembers him, he tipped her well; left a fifty to cover his drinks before heading to the door. He was here before Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane arrived, but left immediately afterwards, just as the lass described. She says the scar extended under his sleeve, she saw it when he reached for his drink. Other than that, nothing else stands out in her mind except the large tip.”

“Thank her anyway for me,” Chip replied, pulling out a large bill to cover all their drinks.

“You just put that away,” Mac admonished, “just find Captain Crane and take care of my good friend, Admiral Nelson,” his determined glare urging Morton to put his money back into his wallet.

Chip considered leaving the cash anyway, but he could see that Mac considered this his own contribution to finding Seaview’s Captain and the ones who had injured Harry. He slid the bill back into his wallet and nodded. He had met Mac once before, when Harry brought him and Captain John Philips here after Seaview’s inaugural voyage. He had only met the pub owner the one time, but Mac had made an impression on him and he could understand why the Admiral was so fond of the Irish bartender.

“Very well, thank you, Mac,” he replied, pushing off the bar to leave.

“Wait a minute, is that it?” Candace pouted, her night far from over and feeling cheated out of a special night out on the town with the tall Nordic hunk.

“I’m sorry, Candace, but I need to pursue this lead, just in case it’s relevant,” Chip explained, stopping to hold both of her hands as she sulked. “I only wished I could stay and dance more with the prettiest girl in port,” he offered with a small wink that melted her disappointment as she bit her bottom lip once again. Chip squeezed her hand and stepped back. “Let’s go, Bobby,” he called, heading toward the door without looking back.

“Come back soon!” Candace yelled after them as she and Jenny blew kisses to the handsome officers and then heaved heavy sighs as their “catches” disappeared into the night.

* * * * *

The darkened room wreaked of a stale musty odor as the room’s only occupant lay on the bamboo mat with his hands tied securely behind his back. His forced slumber was finally giving way to hints of wakefulness as Lee Crane swam past the psychedelic and disturbing images of his drug-induced sleep. Odd dreams of fighting off hordes of octopi armed with nothing more than an empty spear gun, gave way to a blissful view of Seaview as she majestically descended into the depths to his rescue. The octopi vanished as suddenly as they had appeared while his yellow dive suit took on a bright neon color, followed inexplicably by voices coming from inside the windowed-submarine.

“Flood all ballast tanks; down planes ten degrees,” was heard strangely enough, not from the communication system in his mask but from the surrounding water, as Lee heard Admiral Nelson’s voice first and then Chip Morton parroting the orders. Their voices were drawn out, distorted, and in slow-play effect as Lee continued to watch the massive submarine approach, mesmerized by the psychedelic neon lights emitting from Seaview as she descended. The lines of reality blurred to create a bizarre view of his beloved Boat, but his mind completely accepted the distortion.

He started to call out in order to guide Seaview to his present position, but instead, the reality of the drug wearing off greeted him, expelling an uncomfortable moan as his physical discomfort grew with his wakefulness. The sound of his own distress woke him, only to be greeted by an intense nausea as he bit back his body’s urge to relieve the contents of his already empty stomach. Another moan filled the air just as his eyes popped open, followed by complete alertness. He blinked and reined in his heavy breaths, willing his stomach back into submission as beads of sweat rolled down his temple. The pain in his wrists had already alerted him that his hands were bound behind his back. A quick test of how tight the ropes were tied confirmed his predicament.

The dark room offered no clues as to where he was or even why he was here, but the most pressing questions on his mind wasn’t about his present predicament but rather; where was Harry and had he been taken prisoner as well? Was he injured… or was he even alive at all?

Chapter Four

Bowed Under

Harry buttoned his shirt then tucked the tails into his shipboard khaki uniform. Jamie would have preferred for him to stay in Sickbay longer, but had reluctantly agreed that the concussion could heal just as efficiently in his cabin. He’d left Sickbay with the usual medical instructions and admonishments; none of which he paid much attention to. He had nodded and agreed dutifully, but his mind was on more important matters. There were calls to make, updates to receive, briefings to demand; his sole aim and purpose to find the location of his missing captain. He stopped to gaze soberly at the reflection in his mirror. What was he missing? What hadn’t he remembered about that night? Finding his headache threatening to return in force, he headed to his desk where he kept his supply of aspirin handy. He sat down and reached for the drawer, stopping in mid-motion as the weight of Lee’s disappearance hit him hard. With a heavy heart he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk with his head in his hands. This was the first time he had the privacy to allow his concern to be displayed so outwardly. But even with his deep concern, he was busy running through the night at Finnegan’s seeking any clue he may have missed; anyone who might have been out of place in the pub, or shown undue interest in their visit. He shook his head carefully in disappointment, having racked his brain but coming up with no further clues to aid in the search for Lee. A subdued knock at the door interrupted his contemplation as he sat up, resting his now folded hands on the desk in front of him.

“Come in.”

“Do you have a few minutes, Sir?” Morton asked from the now open door.

“Of course, Chip,” he answered, motioning the Exec to the guest chair in front of his desk. The crew had visited the docks in the evening hours hoping to uncover a witness or two, and he was anxious to hear the report. “Come in.”

Seaview’s first officer entered the cabin, his appearance as sharp as ever; flawlessly concealing the fact that he had chased a lead all night and was operating on less than three hours sleep.

“You’re looking much better today, Sir,” he noted as he took a seat.

“Thank you, Chip. Now, what did you find out?”

“We had the crew out in groups of two and three hitting every night spot on the pier last night. They asked a lot of questions but got the same answer: no one saw anything unusual.”

Harry nodded not necessarily surprised by the information. Seaports like these were known for heavy traffic by sailors and two officers more or less wouldn’t have attracted any attention in and of itself. Unfortunately, ports like these were extremely private in nature, with residents and visitors alike reticent about divulging information in general.

“But we did have a little luck following a different strategy,” Chip continued leaning forward.

“Go on,” the admiral urged.

“Mr. O’Brien and I visited Finnegan’s undercover, sort to speak. We dispensed of the questions and made ourselves out to be two sailors on liberty, hoping to flush out pertinent information; just in case what happened was a perchance and not a planned abduction. It turns out two ladies remembered seeing you and Lee there.”

Harry nodded impatiently, their whereabouts at Finnegan’s was never in question, so he hoped Chip was going somewhere with this.

“As it turns out, they recognized you and were enthralled. They were debating whether to approach when the two of you left, but another man beat them to the door.”

Harry leaned closer confident Chip was heading down a relevant path.

“He seemed to show extra interest and watched you from the door.”

“A curious onlooker who perhaps recognized us?” Harry offered, playing Devil’s Advocate.

“No Sir, I don’t think so. He was dressed in a typical wool pea coat like any other sailor; but he was wearing cowboy boots, Sir,” Chip added as Harry’s brow rose at the unlikelihood that he was a sailor from a visiting ship.

“Perhaps he was a local?” Harry said, offering a likely answer to the mismatched apparel. Perhaps, it was someone whose sailing days were over, or even a landlubber donning a classic pea coat because it was warm or he liked the fit. At this point, he just didn’t see a smoking gun.

“If he was local Mac didn’t know him, and we weren’t able to track him down. The crew fanned out on the pier, looking for him specifically.”

Harry shook his head at what he considered a weak lead, at best. “I don’t know, Chip, I realize we’re grasping for any clue here at all, but without more to go on…”

Chip dropped his head slightly. “I know, Sir, I just can’t help but think it’s important.”

The Admiral studied the deep conviction in Chip’s eyes and saw something more than wishful thinking. Seaview’s Exec was operating on a hunch, and his intuition for sniffing out danger was as good as Lee’s.

“Very well, Chip. What does this man look like?”

“Middle-aged, possibly in his 50s, with dark greying hair and a significant burn scar on his right hand. The waitress says the scar extends under his sleeve, but we don’t know how far.”

“A scar you say?” he repeated, with a hint that this new information was indeed pertinent. “Did he follow us out the door?”

“Yes, eventually, but we have no proof that he followed you; only that he seemed to be very interested in the two of you.” Chip studied Admiral Nelson’s face as Harry seemed to stare right past him in thought. “Do you recognize his description, Sir?” he asked perceptively.

“I’m… not sure, Chip,” he stammered out. “I’m not sure if I’m grasping for straws.”

Chip’s eyes narrowed. The Admiral knew something. He’d known Harriman Nelson for many years now, and he was sure the genius admiral was onto something.

“If there’s any chance that you recognize him, Sir…”

Harry stopped Chip with a small hand movement. “I… want to follow up on this, Chip. I can’t exactly accuse anyone with so little to go on, but I can certainly see what ONI can do to locate a certain person who may fit this description. It’s been years since I’ve seen him. Needless to say, I’ll be contacting ONI as soon as we’re done here. Anything else?”

“No Sir, that’s it; but if you don’t mind I’d like to continue surveillance of the docks and pubs, just in case the mystery man shows again.”

“By all means, and Chip,” he said, his words stopping Morton’s movement to the door, “well done.”

Chip nodded, sorely tempted to ask Admiral Nelson just who he suspected; but thought better of it and left, pulling the door closed behind him and making plans for the next rotation ashore in the hopes of tracking down the man with the scarred hand.

Harry leaned forward, burying his head in his hands as he contemplated the odds that Francesco could possibly be involved, and just what that might mean for Lee Crane if it were true. He lingered for only a moment more before reaching for the phone with marked determination.

“Sparks, get me ONI. I want to speak directly to Admiral Johnson.”

* * * * *

Lee had been left completely alone throughout the night. Though left bound, he’d managed to push up onto his knees and look around, but his captors had provided no light to navigate by. The only clues to his confinement were provided by the faint beams of moonlight shining here and there, through what appeared to be a jungle hut. After making his way to his feet, he explored his small cell. The palm frond covered walls were structurally built with bamboo posts too narrow to slide in-between and soundly constructed with the distinct purpose of keeping a prisoner secured. Furthermore, the door was secured with a large chain and apparently padlocked from the outside.

With his hands neutralized, he returned to the mat in the middle of the ten-foot square room and lowered himself back down. Whatever drug had been administered was still working out of his system and the short excursion around his cell had left him feeling ill. He resigned himself to the fact that he needed to rest, despite the fact that he had apparently been unconscious for some time; just how long he didn’t know. He closed his eyes to concentrate on settling his stomach and found himself drifting off to sleep. With no escape options available to him at present, he gave into the needed rest. At this point, it was too dark to see what he was up against, and he desperately needed to recover enough to mount an escape.

He was awakened the following morning to the sound of the padlock opening and the chain rattling as it was pulled through the bamboo opening. The darkness of the hut was suddenly flooded by the bright morning light as the door swung opened. Quickly, he worked himself back up to his knees and blinked away the light’s intrusion. A figure stepped inside the hut producing a dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Glad to see you’re awake.”

Lee blinked again, his eyes adjusting but still unable to see his captor. “Who are you? Why did you bring me here?” he demanded.

His questions went unanswered as the silhouette stepped aside and two more men entered the hut. They pulled Lee up by his still bound arms, his feet shuffling under their rough handling as they hauled him outside. He found sure footing somewhere along the way but was immediately forced to his knees a few feet from the hut. His eyes narrowed and then adjusted to the sunlight enough to get his first look at his captors; two younger men, one in his twenties, the other his thirties. Both wore black fatigues with survival knives hanging from a scabbard on their belts. Rifles were slung over their shoulders and everything about them shouted “mercenaries”, though one looked a little more seasoned than the other. They were the apparent muscle to the clear leader who now stood before him.

Two brown eyes, darkened by what Lee perceived to be extreme emotions of hate and revenge, stared back at him. The leader’s once dark hair was greying and his face was set with hard resolve. He was sure he’d never seen this man before; the mystery only deepening as to just why he had been kidnapped and brought to this remote location. Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.

“Do I know you?” Lee asked, studying his captor’s face.

The leader’s mouth twitched, a sinister smile threatening to emerge as he stared-down his prisoner. Nevertheless, he remained disturbingly silent.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked after receiving no answer to his previous question. For a moment he thought his question would go unanswered, until the leader spoke; his voice deep and dangerous and full of dark, foreboding tones.

“Because somebody has to pay,” he answered and nodded slightly. Immediately, he was pushed from behind unable to break his fall with his bound hands, resulting in a hard landing at his captor’s feet.

Lee recovered quickly from the harsh treatment and looked up, making eye contact and not backing down even in his precarious position. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” he asked seeking answers to questions he wasn’t in a position to demand at this point. His questions were met by a dramatic pause of deafening silence.

“Vengeance,” his captor finally answered then slowly and deliberately lowered himself to crouch beside Lee. “My name is Vengeance; that’s who I am and that’s what I want from you.”

Lee studied his face then shook his head. “I’m sure I’ve never seen you before, and I don’t know who you are or what I could have possibly done to you,” he countered bluntly, his eyes narrowing as he sought to invoke some sort of explanation, even though he knew very well that any number of ONI missions could have produced the level of hate he was witnessing just now.

His captor released an ill-willed smile and stood, towering menacingly over his prisoner. “Guilt by association, Commander, it’s as simple as that,” he stated evenly as the mercenary muscle closed in, each securing an arm and raising Lee to his knees as their leader pulled a knife from his scabbard. Lee steeled his nerves, defiantly holding in the natural concern the survival knife glinting in the sunlight invoked. The leader, however, reached behind him to cut his ropes binding his wrists. The grip on his arms tightened, forcefully reminding him that he was their prisoner as the leader stepped back.

“I’m in need of your jacket, Commander,” he announced, a cold steel gun muzzle to his temple encouraging his cooperation.

Feeling he had no choice, Lee moved slowly and carefully to unbutton his service jacket. “What are you planning?” he challenged, hoping his captor was willing to gloat and perhaps shed some much-needed light. If he wasn’t the target of the vengeance, he could only guess that it was the Admiral.

“You’re going to help me hit Nelson where it hurts the most,” the leader answered, affirming Lee’s supposition that Harry was the target, as one of the men roughly tugged the jacked off his shoulders. “I recognized the look in Nelson’s eyes; pride, satisfaction, perhaps even love for the son he never had,” the last added with sufficient sarcasm. “Oh, he’ll come running alright; and while he’s busy moving heaven and earth to save you, I’ll take away his other pride and joy.” He let that thought sink in and taking great pleasure in Lee’s concern, nodding his head as he affirmed what Crane had already deduced. “Seaview and her crew are about to become collateral damage, Commander.”

“You’re a lunatic!” Lee countered, the gun to his temple sufficiently keeping him from reaching out and wrapping his hands around his captor’s neck. “Those men have nothing to do with whatever sick revenge you’re seeking!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Crane. Whatever’s important to Nelson is fair game,” he retorted as his accomplice handed him the jacket while he draped it over his arm carefully. “In a way, Crane, you’ll be the one delivering the fatal blow; or more specifically, your jacket will,” he amended, unceremoniously brushing off the khaki jacket in mock concern for its condition.

“What are you talking about?” Lee demanded and struggling to contain his fury against odds he couldn’t beat, at least not with a gun still pressed against his head.

His captor produced a silver fountain pen, displaying it prominently before slipping it in the inside breast pocket of Lee’s jacket. “A small but very potent explosive, cleverly disguised don’t you think? The beauty of this device is that I can remotely detonate it once Nelson leaves Seaview. I paid a lot of money for the five-mile range on the remote detonator, but with Seaview anchored only a half-mile from port that won’t be an issue, will it?”

With that, Lee elbowed the mercenary holding the gun to his head while simultaneously throwing off the second accomplice and then lunged forward to take out the leader. His attack however, was short-lived, when he received a devastating blow to the back of his head with the butt of the gun. He fell to his knees, swaying for a moment before he was pushed to the ground from behind.

The world spun around him as he struggled to keep his eyes open and realizing he was quickly losing that battle. The leader crouched beside him, turning him on his back and pulling him up by a fisted collar, demanding his attention before he slipped away to unconsciousness. He whispered, divulging his plan in a cruel taunt and then laughed when Lee’s head fell back unresponsively, the blow having dragged him deep under its dark cover once again.

* * * * *

Harry hung up the phone and leaned forward onto his clasped hands. He’d just revisited an old memory from an ONI mission nearly twenty years ago, and even after all these years it was still painful. It was before Johnson’s tenure at ONI, and so he’d had to provide some background for the basis of his suspicion. Of course, Gerald would pull the mission file and read the details for himself, but even rehashing the generalities had dredged up some uncomfortable memories of a mission gone terribly wrong.

As far as ONI was concerned it was Mission Accomplished, but it had come at a high cost. There was never any doubt the importance of their operation, and every man had sacrificed accordingly for the sake of their duty. Jenkins had gone down in a barrage of bullets on the way to the extraction point. Harry and Townsend were aiding his escape with his arms draped over both of their shoulders and bleeding heavily as they traversed the jungle. But their troubles had only begun when the jungle was suddenly lit up as incendiary devices were launched in a desperate attempt to avert the covert operation. They were already dodging glowing hot spots as the fire spread rapidly when the team was separated by an explosion that left Harry, Townsend, and Jenkins on one side of the blaze and Porter and Francesco on the other. Gunfire erupted behind them and Harry motioned for the two team members to circle around and meet them at the extraction point. Porter acknowledged the plan and Harry turned toward the beach when a loud explosion detonated directly behind him. He turned in horror as the exact spot his two team members had been standing was now a firestorm of intense flames. He searched desperately for any signs of life in the surrounding area, but to no avail. He could only hope that Porter and Francesco had somehow missed the devastating attack. He had no choice but to turn his attention to getting the rest of his team to safety. He urged Townsend along as the two men continued to drag their injured team member to the extraction point. Once there Harry signaled their ride and then turned, looking for any sign of his two missing team members. Multiple fires burned in the jungle behind them as the targets had been a random attack in the general direction of their exit. He heard the boat arrive behind him and turned back, helping to heft Jenkins through the knee high water. Handing the injured man over to the extraction team, he turned back for the beach.

“Where are you going, sir?”

“I’ve still got two men back there. Hold your position for five minutes. If I don’t signal you by then, clear out.”

“Aye, sir,” came the reluctant response as Harry wasted no time running back through the water toward the beach.

He reached the vegetation on the edge of the beach and crouched low, getting his bearings for the probable direction his missing men would come from. A twenty-foot rock face lined much of the beach, which helped to narrow down the expected route they would take. Checking his surroundings once again, he stood and made a dash into the jungle. There was a lot of jungle between their last known position, but if they had escaped the initial explosion, they would have headed this direction toward the extraction point.

A sound caught his attention as Harry crouched low again and listened intently. Labored breathing met his ears and he took a chance, calling out to his men.

“Porter… Francesco!” he called in a stage whisper and then waited for a response. A quick check of his watch told him he only had two minutes left before their extraction ride would leave the beach. “Porter… Francesco!” he called again and then strained his ears for a reply.

“Nelson!”

Harry instantly headed toward Francesco’s voice finding his injured team member about ten yards away. Francesco was holding his left arm and was visibly shaking in pain. Much of his shirt sleeve was burnt away revealing severe burns on his hand and arm.

“Porter?”

“He didn’t make it,” Francesco whispered in obvious agony and leaning heavily as Harry bore him up on his good side.

A simple nod was all Harry could manage. Time was running out and he couldn’t afford to express his sorrow and regret at losing a team member, let alone the fact that they didn’t have time to retrieve the body. He pulled a transmitter from his pocket and sent a flash code and then proceeded to make a hasty return to the extraction site. By the time he reached the beach some three and half minutes later, the extraction team was waiting for them, hastily moving them along and carrying Francesco to the waiting boat.

Harry turned back to the beach, his eyes searching as several fires blazed in the background.

“Sir?” a SEAL called, urging the newly promoted Lt. Commander into the boat.

Harry sighed inwardly. He’d always done all he could to ensure that every team member came home, but this time he fell short. Reluctantly, he boarded the boat which was expertly turned to head for the submarine as Harry kept a watchful eye on the island in the distance, sorrowfully saying goodbye to their fallen comrade.

Later, during the debriefing, he would learn that the explosion had severely injured Porter. Francesco had awakened a few seconds after the explosion to find the jungle behind him on fire. Porter had nearly managed to crawl to safety but was still within the burning zone. So, Francesco headed back into the inferno, braving the flames and pulling his teammate from the flames and burning himself in the process. Unfortunately, Porter was critically injured and died soon after he was dragged to safety. With his arm severely burnt, Francesco was forced to leave their team member behind and had barely made it far enough for Harry to find him.

* * * * *

Harry breathed in deeply, expelling an audible breath in retrospective thought. Francesco had seemed fine initially. His After Action report had corroborated Harry’s account of the operation, and ONI had deemed the mission a success despite a team member’s loss. As the team leader, Harry had taken full responsibility for Porter’s death but had been fully exonerated and indeed, his leadership skills were lauded as the key to the success of the mission. The mission, had in fact, been deemed so dangerous it was considered a testament to Harry’s leadership that the casualties weren’t any higher. The official commendations on his record did little to ease the young officer’s pain of losing a man under his command. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last time the well-seasoned soldier would lose someone under his command, but it had impacted him greatly. No one knew his inner pain, and perhaps it would have been easier if he hadn’t had to leave Porter’s body behind in enemy territory. At any rate, it was his habit to commemorate not only Porter’s death, but all the other men who had died under his watch; whether from ONI missions, war and armed conflicts, or the hazards of the sea. He had decided not to let those deaths fester and had chosen, instead, to celebrate his lost comrades’ lives as well as their devotion to duty.

He had been caught off guard when Francesco confronted him a year later with accusations that his negligence had led to Porter’s death and had gone as far as to make a formal protest. The Navy had subsequently investigated and dismissed the claim. It would seem that Francesco’s burn injury had resulted in a long convalescence and rehabilitation. And after lengthy physical therapy was finally completed, he had elected not to return to active duty on another tour. His ensuing depression was well-documented throughout his care, as well as the emotional journey that had started out positive and full of hope, with nothing but praise for his commanding officer; to bitterness and hatred leveled squarely at Nelson, whom he now blamed for Porter’s death. As a result of the Navy's findings, the ugly allegations were deemed unfounded.

Harry had graciously considered the traumatic events of the ill-fated mission as the basis for Francesco’s complaint and as such, he held nothing against his former team mate. And so, when Harry raised a glass for his fallen comrades each year, it was his habit to count Francesco among the casualties and hoped that someday his former team member would one day find peace.

Perhaps it was the timing of having just visited Finnegan’s that he would be reminded about Francesco after all this time. He knew it was a shot in the dark that the mysterious man even had anything to do with Lee's disappearance, let alone actually be Victor Francesco trying to exact some strange revenge.

Though he knew that it was all far too coincidental, it was a lead he just had to follow-through on.

Chapter Five

Down

Lee’s head ached as he woke again on the bamboo mat. He reached for his head and rubbed when it suddenly dawned on him that his captors hadn’t tied his hands. Fueled by this realization, he tried to push himself into a sitting position but had to stop when the room spun. Taking several long purposeful breaths he tried again, this time successfully moving to his knees. He reached and found the tender spot where he’d been clobbered, as he silently cursed the anger that had driven him to act without a well-thought out plan. It was the words the leader had taunted him with just before he passed out that had been the catalyst.

“I want Nelson here when Seaview sinks to the bottom, then I’ll make Nelson dig two graves… one for him and one for you.”

He steadied himself and rose shakily to his feet, driven by the need to save both Seaview and Harry. Thinking through the problem, he realized that he needed to ensure that the explosive pen either never made it aboard the boat, or at the very least was neutralized. It was a tall order, but he was banking on the leader wanting to see for himself that the jacket had been delivered to Seaview. Though he knew nothing about his captor, he’d witnessed both his grandstanding and his arrogance. He’d want to know that the pen had arrived. More than that, he’d want to gloat, he reasoned, but he said he also wanted to be here when Harry arrived. It was just possible that the leader would accompany one of his men to town to observe the delivery of the jacket and bring Harry back here. He was doing a lot of supposing and guessing, but it was more than possible that there was only one guard outside his door at present.

He inspected his confinement, quietly walking the perimeter of the cell but finding no structural weakness to exploit, nor anything of value to aid his escape. He completed his survey and then stopped to massage his forehead, every step having produced a corresponding pounding in his aching head along with a general unwell feeling. Blinking to clear his mind, he ignored the pain and concentrated on freeing himself. By the looks of the light filtering through the door frame, he figured he hadn’t been out for very long. At any rate, he was running against the clock. It was a fair assume that whoever was left in the camp would have a radio, or some way to communicate with the leader. If he could just free himself, he might be able to warn Seaview and perhaps, intercept Harry before he left the boat. He stopped and looked around his limited resources. There was a way… a dangerous way.

He nodded to himself, resolutely making a decision. With only a bamboo mat in the center of the cell, he didn’t have much to work with; he was going to have to create a reason for his guard to open the door. With time running out, he could only think of one course of action. He’d be taking a chance for sure, but with the stakes so high, he didn’t have a choice. He only hoped it worked and that he hadn’t miscalculated or read the situation wrong; because if he had, he’d be setting himself up for a gruesome death.

It involved setting his hut on fire… with him locked inside.

* * * * *

Harry tossed his pen in disgust onto the green felt blotter sitting on his desk. He had examined that night at Finnegan’s from every angle possible, and he just couldn’t think of any detail that would bring them any closer to finding Lee. He leaned back into his chair and stared blankly, looking past the bunk on the other side of the cabin and completely lost in thought when the buzzer on his intercom interrupted his concentration.

“Nelson,” he answered.

“Admiral Johnson on the video phone, Sir.”

“Thank you, Sparks. Pipe it down.”

“Aye Sir,” the Communications Officer replied as Harry flipped on the monitor on his desk.

“Hello, Gerald. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” he offered more amicably than he was currently feeling at present.

“Harriman,” he greeted rather woodenly and noticeably not matching the level of Harry’s polite civility. “I can affirm with 100% reliability that Victor Francesco was not the man at Finnegan’s.”

Harry leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him and obviously very interested. “I’m sure you have a very good reason to rule him out so succinctly.”

Johnson’s demeanor remained stoic, not at all relaxing as he replied. “He’s dead, Harriman.”

“I see. When did this happen?” he asked, not completely unaffected by the news despite the pain Francesco’s unsubstantiated charge had put him through.

“It happened a couple of years ago, Harriman. He took his own life; wasn’t ‘able to cope anymore’ his suicide note explained.”

Harry breathed deeply and nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that, Gerald, he certainly deserved better for his sacrifice.”

Johnson remained emotionless as he moved on. “I wanted to update you as soon as possible so that you could turn your attention to the facts and not waste time going down the wrong rabbit hole.”

“Understood. Very well, Gerald, I’ll keep you informed.”

“Very well, Harriman,” he replied before severing connection.

Harry shook his head at the lack of emotion Johnson was capable of, even with Lee Crane, one of his own operatives missing. Releasing the thought as unproductive, he leaned back and rubbed his forehead then reached for another aspirin, apparently no closer to finding Lee than when he started.

* * * * *

The run-down, two-story building offered low daily rents and no-frills for the occupants who had chosen the dilapidated dwelling solely for its close proximity to nearby drinking establishments. Rats roamed the hallways openly, looking for their next meal and were no longer by the humans who widely ignored them. The flop house was one of the worst in this port town and was widely only used by transients lucky enough to have resources to stay off the streets. It did however, have one distinct advantage for one occupant in particular; a perfect view of the large gray submarine currently stationed in deeper waters.

Tattered red curtains were only slightly parted to give the occupant a discreet view of Seaview. He’d been watching small boats ferry crew members back and forth from liberty, but he was only interested in one in particular. His eyes narrowed when he finally spotted a tall blond-headed officer boarding a rubber raft. Focusing his binoculars on the officer’s face, he let loose a satisfied half-smile in recognition. He lowered the glasses and watched as the small boat made its way toward the dock.

Sliding the binoculars into his oversized jacket, he pulled out a pair of black gloves and slid one over a large scar on his right hand. The scars on his hand and arm were so much a part of him after all these years that he hardly even thought of them anymore, but it often garnered curious stares when left uncovered and undo attention was the last thing he needed right now.

He took one last look at the raft approaching and nodded resolutely. If Nelson wasn’t going to make an appearance soon, then Morton was the next best thing.

* * * * *

Lee peered through the opening between the bamboo door and its frame. A lone guard was sitting lazily on a rock with his back toward the hut. He’d been watching and so far, his suppositions had held true that only one man had been left to watch over him. The lookout hadn’t ventured over to the hut even once to check on the prisoner, perhaps not expecting him to be awake just yet. He grinned at that thought; it had long since been an ongoing grievance with Seaview’s Chief Medical Officer. Jamie had complained more than once regarding his resistance to sedatives and certain properties of pain medication; especially when Seaview’s safety was in question, or when the Captain felt he had something to report. In this case, Seaview’s imminent danger had been the catalyst to battle past the sedative. He hadn’t lost sight of the threat against Harry either. At this point, however, he had to prioritize the risks and deal with them one at a time.

He moved from the door towards the corner along the same wall. Dropping to his knees, he began working the pieces he had torn from the bamboo mat; standing one piece on its end and systematically rolling it between his hands onto another piece lying beneath it. It worked when he was a boy scout, he mused, continuing to create friction and working diligently until a thin plume of smoke indicated that the process was producing heat. He continued the old trick of “rubbing two sticks together” over a bed of palm frond pieces he’d torn off the back hut wall. The palm fronds were extremely dry and he reasoned that once a spark caught it wouldn’t take long to ignite. He had more than the dry fronds in his favor, since he was well-aware of bamboo’s highly flammable properties. So much so, he knew he’d be in real trouble if his guard panicked and failed to open the door, which was his plan all along.

It was a chance he had to take.

He continued the process for several more minutes and was rewarded with his first spark. Doubling his effort, he worked the process as another spark ignited and smoke began to rise from the fronds. A thin smile of approval appeared and then quickly faded as he leaned over to add oxygen with a gentle blow of the breath until flames appeared. He sat back from his fire building satisfied, adding more fuel to his fire until it caught the edges of the wall.

The flames grew in intensity as the fire found ample fuel to feed its insatiable appetite while Lee headed back to the mat in the middle of the small hut. He needed to appear harmless, so his plan was to keep up the ruse of being sedated. He coughed in order to get the lookout’s attention and laid motionless, waiting for the sound of the padlock being unlocked. A few seconds passed without a hint that his guard was even approaching to open the door.

Smoke began to fill the small hut as Lee began wondering if his plan was such a good idea after all… just as the heat from the fire blazing in the corner started to become uncomfortable.

* * * * *

The mysterious man with the scarred hand watched Morton giving instructions to several crewmen on the dock. The word on the street was that they were looking for a dark-headed man with a prominent scar on his hand and arm, wearing a blue pea coat and cowboy boots. He looked down at his feet, shrugging inwardly and then turned his attention back toward the tall blond, now making his way toward him. Sinking deeper into the alley, he listened as the cadence of Morton’s oxford dress shoes clicked out his approach on the wooden boardwalk as clearly as sonar pinging out a contact. The steps came closer, only a few steps away from him. He pressed his back against the wall, but stayed hidden in the alley shadows and allowed Morton to pass, then stepped out of the shadows.

“Commander Morton,” he called in a quiet, controlled voice that instantly caught the blonde’s attention as Morton wheeled around at the sound of his name. “I heard you were looking for me,” he said, motioning Seaview’s XO deeper into the alley with a sway of his drawn gun.

Meanwhile on the dock, a package was being delivered to Seaview’s dock crew.

* * * * *

He coughed again, this time out of necessity as much to gain attention and was rewarded with an expletive muttered urgently outside his hut. Within seconds, the chain rattled and he heard the door swing open. Lee coughed again, hoping his guard could locate him in the smoke-filled cell. Ignoring the urge to escape the burning hut, he willed his body to remain lifeless as he was picked him up by the shoulders and dragged him out the door. Lee waited until they were well away from the burning hut, before allowing the guard to drop him and choosing that time to attack.

The surprised man wasn’t ready for his fully functional and combat ready prisoner when Lee grabbed his legs, tugging them out from under him in one swift movement. Immediately, Lee was on top of him delivering three rapid blows to his jaw. He felt the guard’s hand floundering by his side searching for his lost gun before abandoning the idea and reaching toward his hip instead. Suddenly, the sunlight glinted off the blade of a survival knife plunging toward him. Quickly, Lee grabbed his wrist, slamming his hand onto to the ground to loosen the grip, but his opponent found an opening and used the momentum to roll Lee onto his back. Not completely taken by surprise by the move, Lee held a tight grip on the wrist and added more momentum to the roll, ending back on top. He issued an uppercut with his free hand while simultaneously slamming his adversary’s hand back onto the ground, producing the desired effect as the two-prong attack loosened the guard’s grip. Quickly, Lee took possession of the knife and threw it into the jungle before issuing an uppercut to his adversary’s chin and then adding a final, devastating double karate chop to both sides of the base of his neck. All movement under him suddenly ceased as Lee watched the guard’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his body went completely limp. He straddled the unconscious man’s body, breathing hard to recover and making sure his opponent was well and truly out. He tested that query by raising the unconscious man’s eyelids and noted completely unresponsive pupils staring back and then climbed off, stopping to place two fingers at his neck and satisfied upon finding the pulse he was looking for. He knew it was a rather vicious final blow that had finished off the guard, but he was still operating with unknown drugs in his system and had sorely needed to shut-down his opponent before he lost his advantage.

Lee rubbed his forehead as he stood before turning and looking back at the burning hut. Fortunately, it had been built in a clearing, and was burning itself out quickly. The risk of a forest fire had definitely been a concern when he came up with this plan, but he felt he had no choice; 125 men were counting on him. Moving on from that thought, he took a few steps toward the now abandoned gun his guard had lost in the fight and stopped to pick it up, sliding it into his belt. Next, he surveyed the encampment. There were no other buildings, so he headed toward several stacks of supplies and rifled through them.

“Damn,” he cursed when he didn’t find a radio, but settled for a length of rope. Crouching beside the guard, he patted down the many pockets looking for some kind of communication device. “He’s got to have one,” he muttered to himself, considering the absurdity of the guard not being able to communicate with the leader. He continued the pat-down and was rewarded with a small unit, roughly in one of the lower leg pockets. While he was anxious to try the radio, he took the time to tie his prisoner’s hands behind his back and then to loop the rope around his ankles in a hog tie. He finished the job by using the guard’s neck bandana as a gag, securing it tightly with a knot. That task complete, he stood examining the small radio and noting the dial’s current setting, no doubt the channel his kidnapper was using for communication. Quickly, he dialed the radio’s frequency to a channel that Seaview’s radio operator would be monitoring and depressed the talk button.

“Seaview, this is Crane. Come in, Seaview.”

Lee waited a moment and then tried again. He fiddled with the controls, increasing the volume and the gain but heard only the familiar static sound when a radio channel was out of range. Frustrated, he adjusted the controls once again.

“Seaview, this is Crane. Come in, Seaview.”

He listened intently before lowering the unit in disappointment and raising a weary hand to rub his forehead. He’d been awake for at least an hour and thought he should be feeling better by now. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and then shook his head determinedly; he didn’t have time to nurse his ailment right now. At this moment, the only thing on his mind was getting into transmission range so that he could make radio contact with Seaview. And to do that, he needed to locate whatever road his kidnapper had used to get here and then head for the docks. To this end, he did what he always did; put his own discomfort on the back burner and focused on the bigger, more important picture.

Moving quickly from “ill”, to “get-it-done” mode, he tuned the transmitter back to the original frequency to monitor the kidnapper’s communications and surveyed his surroundings, noting a not-so-worn trail. Hoping it led to a nearby road, he made his way toward the trail head. He only got a few feet before his legs nearly gave out on him, forcing him down to one knee as he rested his head on his forearm waiting for the dizziness to pass. He took several long breaths, attempting to find his equilibrium once again. He wasn’t sure if it was too many doses of whatever his captor had drugged him with, or perhaps, the effects of the newest bang to his head; but he was most definitely physically handicapped at the moment. A few more cleansing breaths later and he felt he could proceed, so he stood carefully, testing his body’s reaction before starting for the trail with two important tasks before him: to warn Seaview of the bomb and to protect Harry at all costs.

Chapter Six

Ponder

“Nelson,” Harry replied, answering the hail from the intercom on his desk.

“Chief Sharkey, Sir. The dock crew just brought aboard a package addressed to you, Admiral.”

Harry sat straighter and moved forward with intense interest as the boat’s Chief continued.

“Hawking has already cleared the package, Sir,” Seaview’s new Chief of the Boat informed. Francis Ethelbert Sharkey was no newbie to submarines, he was a Navy lifer who had always intended on staying in the service until he retired, but when Admiral Nelson approached him with a recent opening on every submariner’s dream boat, he couldn’t say “no”. He’d been aboard for about three months now and had the difficult task of filling the very big shoes of Chief Curly Jones, a veritable legend among noncoms. He hadn’t coddled the crew, even though Jones’ untimely death had come as a shock, they were Navy Reserve and he expected nothing but their best at all times. Despite the respect he received, however, he was well aware that he was still the “new guy” aboard as he worked through the ins and outs of the uniqueness of a privately owned, Navy Reserve nuclear submarine with an admiral aboard to boot.

“Very well, bring it to my cabin at once.”

Harry sat back and blew a controlled breath out, fully expecting that this was the package he’d been hoping for; some sort of demand for Lee’s safe return. At this point, a ransom was far more preferable than the idea that one of Lee’s enemies had caught up with him; the chances of a good outcome with that scenario would go down considerably if his kidnappers’ only desire was to exact revenge on Captain Crane.

Sharkey must have run from the radio shack to his cabin, Harry thought, because not more than two minutes had passed before the expected rap on his door was heard.

“Come in, Chief.”

“Here it is, Sir,” he said, placing the box onto the center of the desk. “As I said, Hawking already cleared it,” Sharkey continued, his slightly elevated breathing confirming Harry’s supposition that he ran all the way. “It was packaged just as you see it now,” he finished, referring to the twine wrapped box addressed with three simple words, “To: Admiral Nelson.”

“Um-huh,” Harry replied, untying the twine with a single tug of one side of the bow and looking over the box for any possible clue. “Prints?” he queried.

“Hawking found two sets, Sir; but neither the guy who delivered it or Malone wore gloves,” he shrugged.

“The guy who delivered it?” Harry probed, raising an eyebrow at the possibility of a clue.

Sharkey shook his head disappointedly. “A dock worker, Sir; a regular there; we’ve all seen him. He said he was paid two hundred dollars cash to deliver it and before you ask, he didn’t have a scar on his hand.”

A harrumph passed between pursed lips as Harry lifted the lid of the box to reveal a familiar khaki officer’s tunic, the braids on the sleeves identified the owner’s rank as a full commander and the ribbons above the left breast pocket confirmed everyone’s supposition that the tunic did indeed belong to Lee Crane. Harry carefully lifted the tunic out of the box.

“Anything in the pockets?” he asked laying the jacket across his desk and reaching inside the box for the note he was hoping for.

“Just a fountain pen, Sir,” Sharkey answered almost apologetically and wishing there were more clues to work with.

A barely perceptible nod acknowledged the answer as Harry opened the note, a standard size piece of paper, folded neatly in half. The handwritten message was straight-forward and direct.

“I have Captain Crane, but it’s you I want. Come alone or he’ll pay the price. Report to the dock at 2pm, you’ll be given instructions then. Don’t cross me or Crane dies very slowly and very painfully.”

Harry pursed his lips tighter and then handed the note over to Sharkey, who was reading it for the first time himself as his brow tightened in anger.

“Sir, you’re not gonna…?” before he was cut-off mid-sentence. It wasn’t exactly standard operating procedure for the Chief of the Boat to question a senior officer, but that hadn’t stopped Sharkey from protesting the admiral’s apparent decision to meet the kidnappers.

“It doesn’t look like I have much choice, does it?” the admiral asked leaning back and motioning toward Lee’s jacket draped over his desk.

“But Sir?” Sharkey started before his eyes narrowed and he looked back down at the note at a sudden realization. “Admiral, if this bozo wanted you to begin with then why didn’t they just take you when they nabbed Captain Crane? I mean, Mr. Morton says you remember leaving the pub at 2000 hours, but Kowalski and Patterson didn’t find you until 2230?” he questioned in obvious confusion.

“I know, Chief,” Harry placated. “It doesn’t make sense, but our only chance of retrieving the Captain is to at least look like we’re complying and play along,” he reasoned.

Sharkey suddenly smiled and snapped his fingers. “A tracker! We could outfit you with a tracking device. Right, Sir?”

“That’s a logical tactic, yes,” the four-star admiral affirmed, turning his wrist and noting the time. “He didn’t give us much time, did he?” he mumbled, noting that it was already 1300 hours.

“No Sir, probably didn’t want you to have too much time to come up with a plan.”

“But apparently enough time for Seaview Security measures to inspect the package,” Harry added.

“Yeah,” Sharkey answered, but obviously stuck in thought. “Almost like he knew what procedures were in place,” he offered.

“Perhaps,” Harry answered, but raising an upward hand to hold the thought, “or perhaps he is well-aware of any military protocol of such matters,” he surmised, cautioning Sharkey about the conclusion he drew and knowing full-well that to go down the wrong trail could effectively derail an investigation. It was best to note the possibilities, but not to commit to any particular one without supporting evidence. At any rate, he didn’t have much time to prepare. “Where’s Mr. Morton? Does he know anything about this?”

“He’s in town investigating, Sir. I have a couple of guys trying to track him down right now,” the able Chief of the Boat explained.

“Very well,” Harry replied resolutely as he stood. “Then let’s get to outfitting me with a tracking device. I need something small and undetectable,” he instructed.

“I’ll get right on it, Sir,” Sharkey replied with enthusiasm.

“Good, and meet me back here in fifteen minutes along with a tactical team. Keep it small, four men should do it. We don’t want them spotted, so dress accordingly,” Harry ordered.

“Aye Sir. Fifteen minutes,” he replied and headed for the door, before stopping with his hand resting on the knob. “Admiral, what about my first question? Why did they take the Captain and leave you behind, if it was you they really wanted?”

Harry’s eyes bored into Sharkey’s with intensity, though he hadn’t answered the question yet, it was apparent that he hadn’t lost sight of the important observation either. “Well Chief, that’s something we’re just going to have to find out… once we’ve retrieved Captain Crane.”

Sharkey nodded; in that brief sentence, the Admiral had succinctly prioritized their greatest concern as retrieving the Skipper and had also subsequently informed him that answers to their questions would come later.

“Right Sir,” he acknowledged and left the Admiral’s cabin with a lot to do and less than fifteen minutes to do it in.

* * * * *

Harry watched as Sharkey pulled the door closed and then reached for Lee’s jacket, holding it almost nostalgically for just a moment before going through the pockets. He had no doubt that Seaview’s MA had been thorough, but he was hoping for more clues to go on; something to tell him who was using Lee to get to him. That thought caused him to stop mid-motion and breathe out a heavy sigh, but then filed his concern, regret, and anger to the back of his mind so that he could work the problem effectively. Not unexpectedly, his search through the pockets yielded only the silver fountain pen Hawking had found earlier.

Blast it! he cursed silently, unceremoniously dropping Lee’s jacket on the desk in disappointment laced with a healthy dose of anger that was currently being fueled by a healing concussion. He blew a breath out, composing himself and placing the pen on top of the jacket much more in control.

Get yourself together, Harriman, admonishing himself for the emotional outburst. Stop thinking like a… a… friend, he settled on after struggling to find the right word to use. Start thinking like an admiral! This was no time to let sentimental thoughts obscure his usually quick thinking, tactical mind. Lee was counting on him, and there was no way he was going to let Seaview’s captain down. Harry rose from his chair to get ready to go when a rap at the door stopped his movement.

“What is it, Chief?” he answered gruffly, not expecting Sharkey so soon and knowing full-well that he couldn’t have assembled a team, changed out of his uniform, and found a suitable tracking device in the few minutes he’d been gone.

He sat back into his chair as the door opened to reveal Seaview’s Executive Officer. Harry was a little surprised, but he knew he shouldn’t be. Chip Morton was known for the almost uncanny ability to correctly anticipate orders, and his reputation for efficiency had reach almost legendary status in some circles. Or at least, that was what Jiggs Starke had said when he complained that Harry had procured too many of the Navy’s best and brightest for Seaview.

“Chip, come in,” he motioned, ready to fill the XO in. “I’m glad that the crew was able to find you.”

Chip, however, stayed at the door, opening it wider as a second man stepped in beside him.

“That’s not exactly what happened, Sir,” he said as Harry’s eyes grew instantly dark at the sight of the man standing beside his first officer.

Chip motioned his “guest” inside the cabin and then spoke to the Seaview guard who had apparently accompanied them.

“Post yourself outside.”

“Aye sir,” he acknowledged as Chip shut the cabin door and motioned the man further into the room.

“Admiral, this man says he knows you. He says his name is…”

“Victor Francesco,” Harry replied darkly. The same Victor Francesco that had accused him of dereliction of duty resulting in an ONI team member’s death, and whom he had been told only hours earlier by Admiral Johnson, was dead! “I see you found the mystery man,” he noted emotionless.

“No Sir, more like he found me,” Chip replied to the admiral’s slow nod of acknowledgment.

Harry’s eyes bored deeply into the dark-haired man standing before him; even after so many years, he recognized his former ONI team member. His eyes traveled down Francesco’s pea coat to his cowboy boots and then back up to a burned-scarred hand holding a black glove.

“You’re looking surprisingly well for a man who couldn’t handle the pressures of life and killed himself,” Nelson delivered both coolly and succinctly, and then leaned over his desk with his hands folded neatly before him awaiting an explanation.

* * * * *

Lee followed the rough trail for about a half-mile before finding the road he had suspected was nearby all along. The road itself was rough, barely above a jeep trail and by the looks of the tire marks, had been used rather recently. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the transmitter, tuning it to a Seaview monitored frequency hoping for a clear transmission.

“Seaview; this is Crane. Come in, Seaview.”

Scratchy interference was his only response.

Still not in range, he cursed silently while looking down the road. He would lose valuable time if he took the safe route and traveled parallel to the road, and he needed to reach radio range before Harry left the boat. Though it would call for extra alertness, he reasoned that an incoming vehicle would announce itself in both noise and dust. With his mind made up, he started jogging along the road knowing that the innocuous looking pen would raise no flags on Seaview’s security sweep. And according to his captor, it was loaded with a sufficient amount of explosive to blow the submarine apart. Dumping the pen, even a half-mile from port, wasn’t a valid solution either with all the traffic in the harbor. That had left only one option, and that option relied solely upon whether his captor had told him the truth or not.

* * * * *

Harry’s eyes could have bored a hole straight through Victor Francesco, who was staring back largely unaffected or intimidated.

Since, Johnson had reported that Francesco was dead, along with a backstory that included a deeply disturbed man and a suicide note; he could only deduce that ONI had been well-aware of the whereabouts of his former team mate all along. The whole thing smelled of one big-fat-ONI-rat!

“Where’s Captain Crane?” the Admiral demanded, wasting no time.

“I don’t know and that’s the truth,” he replied sincerely, lowering his eyes for a brief moment and then raising them to meet Nelson’s continued glare. “It’s good to see you again, Sir,” he offered with a markedly softer expression.

Harry’s expression remained unchanged, despite the sentiment as his eyes diverted from Francesco’s, to Chip’s, demanding some sort of explanation; a cue his first officer apparently understood.

“I didn’t find him. He found me, Admiral. He claims he witnessed Lee’s abduction,” Chip explained. “He refused to discuss anything more without talking to you.”

Harry nodded, his expression not changing in the slightest as he turned his attention back to Francesco. A moment of deafening silence filled the air before he spoke again.

“I don’t have much time, so give me the short and condensed version,” he demanded in a no-nonsense near-bark, and then sat back, waiting for something that would keep him from throwing Victor Francesco into the brig so that he could get on with the more important task of finding Lee Crane.

Chapter Seven

Upward

Vic Francesco acknowledged Admiral Nelson’s demand with a nod. Nelson’s face had remained hard and if his eyes were any indication, he knew the admiral was exhibiting a massive amount of self-control at this point. He could hardly blame him. If Seaview’s missing captain wasn’t enough to provoke the man’s anger, then surely seeing a former mate who had turned on him and had mysteriously shown up at the exact time of Crane’s disappearance would have surely done it.

“First, the PTSD was real,” Francesco started. “My recovery was a long, slow process, but not nearly as difficult as the dreams and guilt of losing Porter. You don’t know what he looked like when I pulled him from the fire,” he said, holding his composure but still deeply affected by the charred body of his ONI buddy. “I stayed and held his hand until he died… anyway, I worked through that and I was starting to make real progress when ONI approached me with a mission.”

Harry's face relaxed ever so slightly, already deducing where Francesco’s story was going. Francesco stood straighter, ready to move full steam ahead with the explanation.

“They needed an agent to… defect to the other side. I’ve been a double agent for a long time, Harry,” he said, breaking all the protocol of Harry’s four stars, but returning to the first names they used when they were both young officers.

Harry nodded. “And the charge you made against me…”

“Necessary to prove that I was disgruntled, disillusioned, and fed up with the Navy and ONI,” he explained, shaking his head slightly. “I’m sorry for what I put you through all these years, Harry, I know it wasn’t easy.”

“What were you doing at Finnegan’s?” Harry asked, not ready to accept the explanation and let him off the hook just yet. There were too many questions that just weren’t adding up.

“Because I heard you were going to be there.”

Harry sat back. “Go on.”

“The information network I listen to came up with chatter about you. Someone was asking a lot of questions… making plans… talking revenge. I was too deep under to report; the best I could do was to come here. My cover takes me to lots of places,” he explained. “It wasn’t a stretch for me to get here.”

“Then why didn’t you warn me before my captain was kidnapped?” Harry demanded, slapping a frustrated hand on his desk, when his intercom buzzed. Harry pressed the button hastily. “Yes,” he nearly barked out.

“Sharkey here…”

“Is everything ready, Chief?” Harry interrupted, not wanting to give Francesco too much information, especially since he had yet to verify his story and had no time to make a call to ONI.

“Aye Sir…”

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” he answered, depressing the talk button and ending the call. Harry folded his hands and turned his attention back to Francesco. “You have exactly five minutes to tell me what you know about Captain Crane’s disappearance,” he stated rather bluntly.

Francesco nodded slightly and got to the point. “I tailed you when you left Finnegan’s, but I had to hang back far enough not to be noticed. I’ve got stuff going that I can’t walk away from just yet. I couldn’t blow my cover. Anyway, I saw you get clobbered from behind when you walked past an alley. I got there in time to save you, but they had already loaded Crane into the van. They picked a quiet place to ambush you; the mercantile shops were closed and the nearest foot traffic was a bar a half block down on the opposite side of the street. But they weren’t expecting me, and they panicked. I couldn’t risk police involvement; the best I could do was to drag you into the alley and stake out a place to watch over you. I placed your cap out in the open and some of your crew showed up a couple of hours later, but I couldn’t watch over you and track Crane at the same time.”

“That explains the drag marks into the alley,” Chip offered, tentatively.

“And why they left me behind if I was the intended target after all,” Harry added to Chip’s obvious realization that he had missed something important. Harry noticed and continued. “Lee’s jacket was delivered to the docks with this.” Harry handed over the note to Chip to read.

Francesco stood nearby, still not sure of his standing with Harriman Nelson at this moment.

Chip’s brow tightened. “Admiral, you’re not going to meet them? Lee’s jacket isn’t proof that he’s still alive.” It wasn’t that he was being callous or cold concerning Lee’s disappearance, but he had a duty to protect the Admiral as well.

Harry raised a hand to quell the argument. “Sharkey and Sparks have rigged a transmitter for me. He’s also assembled a small team to track me. It’s the only way to get to Lee,” he added, indicating that the decision had already been made.

“Permission to join the team, Sir,” Chip interjected without missing a beat.

“Very well.”

“Aye Sir. What about him?” he asked with a nod toward Francesco.

“Until I can check out his story, he’s going to be our guest aboard Seaview.”

Francesco stepped forward, his movement checked by Chip’s protective stance. “Damn it, Nelson! I didn’t risk twenty years undercover work to have you go out and sacrifice yourself like this. I’m damn good at what I do, or I wouldn’t still be alive. Don’t sideline me like this!”

Harry stood, answering Vic’s fiery outburst with his own explosive one. “That’s just the point; you’ve been playing the double agent for twenty years now, Francesco. How do I know you’re not doing just that right now?” he challenged.

“Do you know what I risked to come here?!” he fired back.

“You haven’t told me yet why you came, Vic!” Harry challenged, using his first name in the familiarity of the friendship they once had; one that was coming back to the surface even after all these years.

Vic’s eyes pierced with conviction as he swallowed back emotion. “I don’t have any family, you know that. That’s why I was the perfect candidate to disappear into the dark fringes of the espionage world. The only family I have are my buddies. Buddies who will never know that I’m even alive, or that I’ve sacrificed everything I love so that I can keep my country safe by playing the part of a traitor. I should have ignored this… walked away, protected twenty years of undercover work; but I couldn’t. And if I have to explain “why”, then maybe you’re not the man I thought you were.”

The silence of his strong words was met by Harry’s remarkably calm voice.

“I just needed to hear it from you, Vic. To see if the man I once knew was still in there,” Harry replied, losing the intensity of their heated words, but still carrying the burden of Lee’s life if he didn’t comply with the kidnapper’s demands.

Francesco breathed out his own excess fervor, but that was all the sentiment either man had time for as Harry broke the moment with his next words of action.

“Gentlemen, let’s go get back Captain Crane.”

The collective determination of the three men was palpable as they filed out of Harry’s cabin to put their hastily put together plan into action.

* * * * *

Lee stopped along the road, bending over with his hands resting on his knees. Normally, a run like this would be nothing for the lean and fit captain, but today the endeavor had proved taxing. His body felt as if he were battling the effects of a bad flu with achy muscles and bones. A cough from his smoke-irritated lungs and throat exasperated the generally run-down feeling he was currently experiencing, as he reminded himself that the fire inside the hut had been his bright idea. Regardless of how he felt, it was time to move on.

He stood and took the time to survey his surroundings, taking extra precaution to listen for the sound of an approaching vehicle. Once satisfied that he could stay on the road, he pulled out the transmitter and tried making contact once again.

“Crane to Seaview. Come in Seaview.”

The static produced similar results as before as he drew the back of his hand across his mouth. He resolved to continue but was becoming more than uncomfortable with how much time it was taking to get into transmission range. He was pretty sure that his kidnapper had had plenty of time to deliver the bomb and at this very moment, Seaview was unknowingly hosting the deadly device. That thought drove his determination as he took off jogging once again, stubbornly ignoring every pained step along the way.

* * * * *

Randall Fenton watched through binoculars as Admiral Harriman Nelson debarked from the rubber boat to the dock. He continued his surveillance and smiled.

“It looks like Nelson is following orders,” he mumbled as Nelson reached the end of the dock when a dock worker approached him. Fenton's smile broadened as the admiral received the envelope with instructions the dock worker had been paid to deliver. He watched as Nelson read the note and then proceeded toward town, following his instructions exactly as planned.

“It won't be long now,” he mused darkly, turning his attention from Nelson to scanning the area, looking for signs that the famed admiral had double-crossed him. He knew from experience that the man couldn't be trusted. Finding no unusual movement to indicate that the Nelson had been followed, he stowed the binoculars. “Let's go, Baxter,” he ordered as his accomplice put the small van into gear.

Meanwhile, a small team of divers surfaced underneath the docks.

* * * * *

Lee had been jogging the rough road as it wound around and spotted a clearing just ahead. It was a natural turn-out of sorts; as he got closer, he realized that it was actually an outcropping along a cliff that dropped at least two hundred feet. From here, he could see the port town below; but more importantly, he had a clear shot past the docks to the large windowed submarine stationed just beyond the harbor. Quickly, he pulled out the transmitter hoping that the perfect line of sight would produce a clear transmission. After all, if his abductor had paid “a lot of money for five-mile remote detonation capability”; surely, he had invested in a decent radio transmitter, he thought as he readied the device.

“Crane to Seaview. Come in Seaview.”

He listened intently and was almost ready to call again when his hail was answered.

“This is Seaview. We read you Captain Crane!”

He had no time to relish in the relief of making contact and quickly raised the transmitter.

“Sparks, I need to speak with the Admiral,” he replied cutting straight to the chase.

“He left the boat almost an hour ago. Sir, Lt. O’Brien requests your status.”

Lee ignored the request and continued. “Did Admiral Nelson receive a package today?”

“O’Brien here; Aye Sir. He received your jacket and a note demanding that he meet the abductor.”

Lee grimaced; he could only assume that the pen-bomb had been delivered with his jacket, and the fact that Harry had already left the boat meant that his kidnapper’s plan was dangerously close to succeeding.

“Listen to me, Bobby. You’ve got a bomb aboard with a remote detonation range of five miles. Dive and proceed at flank speed into the open seas. Don’t wait for any crew in port; just get some distance between the port and the boat. Do it now.”

Bobby kept the mic live so that Lee could hear the subsequent orders being given in the background and then continued.

“Anything else, Sir?”

“Isolate and contain the bomb, it’s a silver pen that was delivered with my jacket. Do not, I repeat do not ditch it overboard, there’s too much traffic in the harbor.”

“Aye Skipper. Your status, Sir?”

“I'm good, Lieutenant,” he replied, immediately dismissing his well-being as not important at the moment and continued. “I’ll intercept the Admiral; I’m pretty sure I know where they’ll be taking him. Where’s Chip?” he asked as an afterthought.

“Admiral Nelson is rigged with a tracking device and Mr. Morton is leading a small assault team covering his movements electronically.”

Lee blew out a sigh of relief. “Acknowledged,” he replied, watching with satisfaction as Seaview dipped into the ocean. “I’ll contact you when I can.”

“Aye Sir.”

“Crane out,” he finished and then tuned the transmitter back to its original setting to monitor the kidnapper’s communications.

He took just a moment to study the port town below him, calculating the distance from the rocky crag and the fact that Harry had left the boat an hour ago. He rubbed a weary hand across his brow, before starting his trek back up the same road he had come down earlier. He had been successful in reaching Seaview, but now he needed to secure the Admiral's safety. As he jogged, he thought back to his conversation with the kidnapper. While he had never met him before, he still couldn’t help but feel that his abductor was familiar, perhaps only vaguely so; but the more he thought about it, the more it bother him.

Feeling a new sense of urgency, he stepped up his pace as best as his compromised physical condition would allow hoping to reach the encampment before the kidnapper returned.

* * * * *

Chip adjusted the scanner, dialing in to get the proper bearing on the Admiral’s signal.

“The signal is stationary, about five miles out of town,” he informed. “We’re going to need transportation,” he stated flatly.

“I can take care of that,” Francesco stated.

Chip nodded cautiously and watched him head off toward a side road.

“Sir, you’re not going to trust this bozo?” Sharkey asked, lowering his voice to keep the conversation quiet.

“The Admiral cleared him, Chief; besides, I don’t have much choice, do I?” he replied, his latter statement indicating that he hadn’t exactly decided if Vic Francesco was a good guy or not.

The corner of Sharkey’s mouth twitched as he forced back a smile, clearly pleased that the Exec was keeping a guarded eye on their new “friend”. It wasn’t but a moment later when Francesco drove up in a sedan.

“Get in,” he urged, tilting his head toward the car.

“Should I ask where you got this?” Chip inquired, opening the door and sliding into the front seat, while Sharkey, Kowalski and Patterson took the back seat.

“It’s all on the up and up, I can assure you,” Vic replied with a side-glance toward Chip. “This road?” he asked, getting back to business as Chip studied the screen before him, comparing it to the satellite picture Sparks had supplied in preparation for their mission.

“Yeah, this looks like it should intercept the signal.”

They drove past the docks toward the center of town and continued on an intercept course with the Admiral’s tracker. Traffic began to thin out as they passed the edge of town where the businesses and houses were fewer and farther in between. Each man kept a vigilant eye on their surroundings as they approached the stationary tracker beacon. Except for the occasional side road, the countryside to their right and left was a dense tropical forest filled with rich ferns and tall green trees. A virtual paradise, had they not been on a rescue mission.

“Stop here,” Chip instructed as he they rounded a corner while he continued to study the small radar screen. “That’s it up ahead,” he said with a nod to an old filling station whose use had apparently been abandoned some years ago.

Francesco pulled over, parking behind a clump of bushes to conceal their presence. “We’d better approach on foot,” his tone indicating the request was more than a suggestion as the ONI agent went into spy mode.

“Agreed,” Chip replied with a discerning side glance toward the newest “member” of their team. “Chief, you Kowalski and Patterson circle around to the far end. Cover any windows or doors, we’ll coordinate an attack in T minus five minutes.

Each man nodded and checked their watches before the threesome took off into the cover of the forest toward their destination.

“I work better alone,” Francesco informed dryly.

“So do I, but I guess we’re stuck with one another,” Chip replied, not in the least bit intimidated by his tone and fully intending on keeping an eye out on the self-confessed double agent.

Vic shrugged in a “suit yourself manner” and continued. “I’ll take the front door,” he informed, producing a sidearm that Chip didn’t know he had.

“Fine, I’ll take the window,” Chip added seemingly unaffected, as the two entered the forest for their own cover.

* * * * *

Chip’s sidearm was pulled from its holster and ready for use, with the small tracking device slung over his shoulder as they approached the filling station. He had yet to decide how to read Vic Francesco. Though in Harry’s office, he had seemed sincere enough, he wouldn’t allow himself to believe the man was harmless with so little to go on. The Admiral seemed to be satisfied with Francesco, but with so much riding on their success, he’d reserve full trust until the story had been verified. All Chip had to go on was a believable story as to why Lee had been taken when the Admiral was the intended target. It was compelling, but not enough to warrant full faith in this now forced partnership.

He allowed Vic to take the lead, positioning himself behind the so-called agent where he could keep an eye on him, something he knew Francesco was fully aware. To the man’s credit, it didn’t seem to faze him one bit. Chip wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not; it could mean that Francesco knew something that he didn’t at this point, or it could mean that the man was on the up and up. Either way, the Exec intended on keeping his eyes, ears, and options open.

They reached the filling station in short order, with Vic motioning toward the window on the side of the weather worn building, as he proceeded to the front door. After checking their watches, the team stormed the building with Vic kicking in the front door and Chip crashing in the window, rolling once and immediately recovering into a shooting stance from his crouched position. A back door was kicked in at the same time as Seaview’s Go-To team filed in, expertly training their weapons in different directions in search of a target.

Even before the dust settled, it was apparent that the building was completely abandoned. Furthermore, the undisturbed dust on the floor revealed there hadn't been any visitors recently.

Sharkey blew a loud disappointed huff of breath out and holstered his sidearm. “Nothing!” he declared disgustedly.

Francesco ignored the outburst and walked around the small building, poking his head into a small supply closet, whose door was hanging half-off the hinges. Chip was unfazed as well, holstering his weapon and checking the tracker device to determine exactly where the signal was emanating from, while Kowalski and Patterson remained vigilant, guarding their position with their side arms still pulled.

Chip headed toward front door, following the signal as Francesco stepped up beside him.

“No trap door or hidden rooms,” he reported to Chip’s slight acknowledging nod.

The two proceeded out the front door, stopping abruptly at the tracker’s signal strength and looked straight down. He sighed, crouching down to pick up the discarded tracker, its silver button-like appearance glistening in the sunlight on the ground. He held the tracker between his forefinger and thumb, examining the device with full realization that they had lost Admiral Nelson.

Chapter Eight

Askance 2

From Nelson's point of view

Almost as soon as he arrived on the dock an envelope had been given to him. The dockworker smiled brightly and told him he had made an easy two hundred dollars for the delivery and to have a nice day. Harry read the note inside and proceeded to walk toward the town square, following his instructions exactly as written. He knew that somewhere behind him, a team led by Chip Morton had probably reached the shore by now, but even without that prearranged fact, he still would have come. To know that he was the intended target and that Lee had been caught in the middle of a revenge plot meant for him had been a hard pill to swallow.

He knew he was getting the Navy’s best when Lee signed aboard, but he'd been surprised at how rich their friendship had become. The two had worked together like a well-oiled machine, overcoming incredible odds time and time again. Over the last year, their mutual respect for one another’s considerable skills had naturally transitioned into a genuine friendship; one he had come to value greatly. They were in fact, practically brothers, or so he said at one time.

Harry refocused his thoughts as he reached the destination prescribed in the note. He waited for only a moment before a taxi cab arrived, indicating that he was his prearranged ride. As with the dockworker, he realized that the driver had simply been hired to transport him and sought no information. He would do nothing to jeopardize Lee's safety, and it was no small comfort to know that Chip was covering his back. The taxi proceeded out of town, eventually stopping at an abandoned filling station with a single 1940s style cylinder gas pump featured prominently in front of an old, unused building.

“This is it,” the driver announced upon rolling to a complete stop. “The fare’s been taken care of,” he announced flatly to Harry’s acknowledging nod.

He exited the cab and surveyed his surroundings; there had been no additional instructions so he waited for the abductors to make the next move. The taxi headed back to town, turning a corner and was now out of sight. A few minutes later, a van approached from the opposite direction, arriving to a squealing halt in front of him. Two men exited the vehicle, and by the semi-automatic pistol leveled at his middle, it wasn't hard to deduce that the kidnappers had shown up.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the older of the two men ordered.

Harry raised his hands, complying completely as the younger man patted the admiral down, even as Nelson studied the vaguely familiar man in front of him. Not someone he knew personally, he decided, but definitely familiar.

“He’s clean,” his accomplice reported.

“Very good, Admiral Nelson,” the older man stated, obviously the superior among the two. “Run this over him,” he said, unfolding a small antennae-like appendage on a device that looked very much like a small radar antenna attached to a base with dials.

Harry’s brow tightened upon the realization that the device appeared to have all the markings of an electronic detector. He maintained his stance, cooperating fully as the device was methodically waved in front of him. It came as no surprise when the device suddenly sounded off in a sharp beep indicating a positive reading. The subordinate raised the admiral’s lapel to reveal the very small, sophisticated tracker attached to its underside.

The leader chuckled humorlessly. “I’d have expected nothing less of you, Nelson,” he stated as the tracker was removed. “Anything else, Baxter?”

“Nothing else, he’s clean.”

“Good. Now Admiral Nelson, if you don’t mind,” he ordered, motioning Harry to the side door of the van. “You’ll do well to remember that Captain Crane’s well-being depends solely upon your cooperation,” he added, unceremoniously tossing the now exposed tracker toward the abandoned building.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Harry replied dryly as he climbed into the van, sitting on a bench on the far side as his abductor climbed in behind him taking his seat directly across.

“Now then, let’s take a little ride, shall we?” he asked rhetorically, as they headed back towards town before taking a sudden right-hand turn onto a rough, dirt road.

“May I ask what this is all about?” Harry demanded more than asked.

His abductor pursed his bottom lip, his eyes darkening in a dramatic pause. “Does the name Fenton mean anything to you?”

Harry’s brow tightened as he finally made the connection with this new information. It was more than the familiar features of his face; the distinctive nose, the debonair lines of his chiseled jaw, and that all too familiar voice. He pursed his lips in final recognition and then answered calmly, “I didn’t know that General Fenton had a brother.”

Fenton’s eyes darkened and his face hardened. “There wasn’t much left of him after you blew up the warehouse,” he spat out.

“And what about you?” Harry asked, purposely ignoring the direct reference to General Fenton’s final demise. “Are you a traitor too; an agent for the other side, perhaps?” his question redirecting Fenton’s death to the General’s own treachery. Both men knew the story well, though Harry suspected their takes on the matter were far different.

“I am the avenger of my brother’s blood,” Fenton declared, his eyes narrowing and his nostril’s flaring as he slid the action back, readying the gun to exact the vengeance he longed for.

* * * * *

“We lost him?” Sharkey asked, his concern as easily read as his disappointment.

“It would appear so, Chief,” Chip responded flatly.

“What do we do now?” Kowalski asked from behind Chip’s shoulder as Francesco ignored them and began surveying the faint, dusty tire tracks on the road.

“I tracked the beacon on the move to this spot,” he explained looking up and down the road. “We’ll track him from here,” Morton declared.

“But how, Sir?” Patterson asked concerned.

“There are fresh tracks here,” Francesco jumped in, pointing to the thin layer of dust tracks beside the old-fashioned pump that disappeared once the vehicle reentered the blacktop road.

“But which way?” Sharkey asked worriedly, looking up and down the forest lined road.

“They went back towards town,” the agent informed abruptly, pointing Seaview’s men to a faint track on the other side of the road as if it were maneuvering a U-turn.

“But we didn’t pass any other traffic,” Sharkey noted astutely.

“Which means they took one of the side roads,” Chip informed, keeping his cool despite his concern for both the Admiral and Lee.

“But which one?” Kowalski asked, knowing they had passed several since leaving town.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll find fresh tracks that match this pattern,” Francesco replied, pointing down at the faint tracks.

Chip nodded. It was a long-shot, but it made sense. “Fine, let’s head back and start checking out the side roads.”

Their mood was somber but determined as they jogged back to the car. They piled in the sedan as Francesco executed a very fast and tight U-turn, peeling out as they raced toward the first side road between here and town. The car was silent save for the road noises as Francesco took the turns of the road fast but in control, while Chip studied the satellite map, guiding him to their first destination.

* * * * *

Harry stared down the dangerous end of the Beretta; his face even, his lips pursed, his eyes unflinching in the face of danger, but Fenton shook his head as if rethinking his actions.

“No, Admiral Nelson, it would be too easy. I know you're a sentimental man underneath all the military hyperbole, after all, look what you were willing to risk for your sister?” he stated casually. “I also know that since her release, she has been closely guarded by ONI. So, I sought someone else for my plan, someone else you cared about; but you’re a very private man, aren’t you?”

Harry remained emotionless, refusing to give Fenton the satisfaction he was seeking.

“Then it dawned on me!” he said with the familiar raise of an eyebrow that mirrored his dead brother’s, in a mock “a-ha” moment. “Seaview! Seaview and her crew,” he finished triumphantly.

Harry’s forehead tightened, his eyes burning in anger as the fire the famed admiral was known for began to surface, kept at bay however, by the gun aimed directly at his heart.

“Yes, Admiral, your precious Seaview,” he spat out, tormenting his prisoner with the slow release of his plans.

As much as Harry would have liked to have launched himself across the van, he also knew that this was no time to get careless. He had no intention of giving in without a fight, but he needed all the facts in order to counter the plans against his crew.

“What are you planning to do?” Harry asked full of emotion, hoping that Fenton would enjoy spelling out the entire blueprint of his vengeance. Fenton took the bait and smiled deviously.

“You, Admiral Nelson, will be given the privilege of watching your precious boat blown to pieces, and knowing that the blood of your entire crew is on your head!” he spat out victoriously, before sitting back against the van and heaving a satisfied breath as the anger in Harry’s eyes grew. “Originally, of course, that plan included Captain Crane, but when I saw you two together at the pub, I knew that I had quite by accident, come across another way to injure you! Yes, I saw it; that look of… dare I say, fatherly pride?” he revealed, watching Nelson’s almost confused expression.

Harry swallowed, inwardly questioning Fenton’s observation and surprised that he had chosen that particular word.

“And so, Admiral Nelson, not only will you watch Seaview’s destruction, you will also bear the responsibility of watching Captain Crane die a very slow, painful death. My ultimate vengeance will be in allowing you to live at least for a short while, with the knowledge that you alone are responsible,” he finished sitting back and ending the conversation with a glare as he reveled in Harriman Nelson’s unspoken torment.

* * * * *

The duration of their journey was spent in silence, palpably heavy in mood as Fenton shut down, channeling only hatred, vengeance, and anger in his eyes. Harry remained silent as well, his own anger now joined by a very real concern for Seaview’s crew and his best friend, Lee Crane.

The view out the front and back windows changed little as they traversed the bumpy, rough road. Though there were little landmarks as they traveled the wooded area, he realized they were gaining in elevation, resulting in a rather slow ascent. He calculated his options, only to find he had none at present except to be ready to act should an opportunity arise. And he still didn’t know how Fenton was going to accomplish his threat against the boat and would need more information in order to save Seaview and her crew. As far as Lee was concerned… well, he was going to have to solve one deadly threat at a time.

The last thought was sobering, and with nothing left to do but remain ready and vigilant, he allowed himself to consider Fenton’s observation. He set aside his initial shock that an outsider would have characterized his strong tie to Seaview’s young captain as ‘fatherly’. It wasn’t that he never showed emotion, heaven knows he had quite the reputation for his rather fiery ability to express his anger. He was a passionate man about right, wrong, duty, efficiency, pride, friendship and family; but even so, he would have thought that “brotherly” would have been a more accurate description for an outsider to use. This disturbed him. The fact that he had allowed his friendship with Lee Crane to be so easily read was disconcerting enough, he was far too professional and private for his feelings to be on display like that.

In all fairness to himself, that night at Finnegan’s had been a particularly emotional one as he shared a very private moment that he knew Lee would understand… the loss of comrades. But could he characterize his friendship beyond the ties of brotherhood? True, their relationship was far different than Lee and Chip’s brotherly bond, but fatherly?

Perhaps, Fenton had misread the moment, he considered, or perhaps not.

Fatherly… he considered silently, wondering just when mentoring one of the Navy’s brightest and capable officers had turned the corner to emotions reserved for family.

Easily able to multitask, he kept his face even; remaining cognizant of both his surroundings and the dangers thereof, while simultaneously engaging in this self-examination. In his heart he knew it to be true, somewhere along the line his relationship had moved from pride in Lee Crane’s abilities; to a deep and true friendship; to the realization that if he had had a son, he would want him to be everything that Lee Crane was. But did that realization actually equate itself to a paternal bond? And if it did; when did it change? Without even straining for the memory, he could name the defining moment.

Mutiny.

The moment Lee Crane drew the gun, risking his career in a mutinous act to defy the poor decisions of one impaired admiral and one unfairly biased against Seaview’s captain; he being the former and Jiggs Starke the latter. He was, of course, impaired by an allergic reaction to the cortisone pills prescribed for his recovery after being lost at sea. Even though he had been mentally and physically unable to rightly discern his surroundings at the height of the drug-induced breakdown, he had been able to recall the episode vividly during his recovery in Sickbay. It had been a painful time of self-reflection as he made sense of the powerful memories he had observed, almost as a bystander.

Harry cringed as he remembered the wild, unbalanced actions of only a few hours earlier. They had made perfect sense to him while under the influence of the medication; only now that the drug was currently purging from his system could he even attempt to analyze the situation rationally. He had been emotionally unstable when Seaview's doctor had led him out of the Control Room, shaking and talking incoherently. He'd been completely unable to grasp the fact that Lee had been correct about gaining maneuverability by increasing speed and utilizing a dive with down planes.

“It was simple physics!” he berated himself, as he lay in the bunk feigning sleep so that he could sort everything out.

He'd heard Jamieson report to Lee that it would be several hours before he could provide a medical report and except for the occasional check of his vitals had left him to rest with minimal interaction. He was grateful for the time and space to think things through, though he suspected that Jamie was only seeking to keep him from becoming agitated. A few hours later, Jamieson re-examined him and with great relief in the doctor's eyes, had explained that he had suffered a simple allergic reaction.

“I'd like you rest for several more hours before I allow visitors,” Jamie stated, to which he nodded in agreement, only too happy to agree with the doctor's wisdom. He had relished the solitude at that moment; craved it even. He'd found himself terribly weakened by the drug's effects, and was grateful that Jamie in his medical wisdom hadn't added sedatives to the mix. But even with the sleep his body craved, he knew he needed time to sort out what had happened.

Reliving the incident had been a humbling experience, but with his faculties now restored for the most part, he needed to evaluate everything logically; take his embarrassment out of the equation and see the big picture. To this end, he sought to wade past the mixed-up emotions that had clouded his actions earlier and look at the events through the lens of reason.

Harry grimaced as he revisited the breakdown.

On top of the fact that Lee had been relieved of duty, Harry had demanded a court-martial. Furthermore, he hadn't been able to articulate the danger of the coelenterate returning as he rocked back and forth, oddly lost in his own torment while sitting on the periscope island. But now that his mind was clearing, he was able to see through the fog and discern the events as they had unfolded. Something stood out in his recollections, something worth examining despite the discomfort of doing so.

He remembered Lee's discerning eyes watching him, questioning his odd actions. A simple shrug of the shoulders in the hospital was his first clue; but later aboard Seaview, Lee's side-glanced stare would be even more telling. His eyes had narrowed and his forehead tightened in deep concern. Harry had ignored the scrutiny at the time, but he'd been remotely aware just the same. His oddities had progressed from uncharacteristic excitability; to strange doodling in a life and death situation; to over-the-top euphoria at the carnotite ore discovery. Each layer of unusual behavior had piled one upon the other until Lee Crane felt he had to act.

Harry expelled a cleansing breath, deciding he had done enough revisiting of his mental collapse. He was now left with two realizations; that the entire affair had been out of his control, and that Lee Crane had been solely responsible for saving Seaview and all her hands by his bold, selfless act. It wasn't betrayal or mutiny, for as soon as the boat was safe, Lee had willingly obeyed the order relieving him of his command. The guts it took to stand up to two admirals had been admirable, but perhaps even more impressing was Lee's actions afterwards. Even in the early state of his recovery, he had heard the orders given over the boat's com system leading to the coelenterate's ultimate destruction. Though he was unable to articulate it then, he was now fully aware that it was Lee's voice issuing orders to place a nuclear charge through the hull. It was a brilliant move, one that even the seasoned captain of the Neptune hadn't been able to work through. What he felt then, was a sense of pride that surpassed professional regard and even friendship. What he felt was the pride one feels when a loved one has succeeded well.

The thought, as frightening as it was foreign, was interrupted when he heard Lee and Jiggs enter Sickbay. He hadn't even realized how much time had passed as he engaged in this very private moment of self-reflection. And he wasn't sure he was ready to face anyone yet; not Jiggs and surely not the man for whom he had demanded a court-martial. He remained quiet under the pretense of slumber in order to avoid conversation, but as he listened, he was struck by the relief and concern in Lee's voice. There was no sense of pity, just respect and concern for his well-being. In that moment, he consciously let go of his embarrassment, self-reproach, and internal rebukes in favor of something else. That something else was summed up perfectly in Jiggs Starke's observation at his bedside.

“He's navy all right. Old or new... it doesn't matter. Oh, and so are you, Captain. He should be proud.”

Proud… that was it exactly!

“He is…” Harry found himself responding, “Mighty proud,” he said unashamedly, turning over and finally allowing self-forgiveness and moving past the lack of dignity the allergic reaction afforded to the more important matter. Seaview and her crew were safe… and the friend he had forged such a deep bond with had stood by him through it all, mutiny notwithstanding.

The particularly bumpy ride slowed their progress, giving Harry ample time to consider his original question. Had Fenton misread his friendship as something deeper? A fatherly bond? he repeated incredibly. Lee was the type of man he would want his son to be, if that realization alone equated to fatherly pride – so be it. But whether he actually thought of Lee as a son was another matter entirely, he decided. That thought would have to be examined at a later date, at this point, Seaview’s safety demanded his attention, he admonished himself, forcing his thoughts to the priority of the dangers at hand and resisting the urge to rub his brow. His headache had long since returned in full force and the bumpy road wasn’t helping his healing concussion. The bumpy ride, however, came to an unexpected halt as Fenton, who had remained silent for most of the ride, smiled deviously.

“A now I have a very special surprise for you, Admiral Nelson,” he announced, taking obvious satisfaction in what was about to take place.

* * * * *

Francesco pulled to a stop well behind the dirt side-road and disembarked almost as soon as he put the car in park, following a careful path to preserve any possible tire tracks.

“Here’s one!” Sharkey sang out.

“No,” Francesco dismissed almost immediately. “The tread is too narrow, a smaller tire made this track, probably a compact car,” he explained, immediately abandoning the track and moving forward, following the natural turn a driver would have taken. He ventured about ten feet onto the perpendicular road and then turned around. “There’s no indication of recent activity here, other than the unmatched track,” he announced, walking past Chip and heading straight for the car once again.

Chip started to follow but felt a polite restraint at his elbow.

“What do you think, Sir?” Sharkey asked, watching Vic Francesco continue to scan his surroundings as he returned to the car.

“I think we let him take the lead on this,” he answered flatly.

“Do you trust him, Sir?” Seaview’s Chief asked cautiously.

“About as far as I can throw him,” Chip answered in a side-whisper. “But right now, he’s our best chance of finding the Admiral and Captain Crane,” he finished, with a nod toward the car in a silent urge to hurry their steps.

* * * * *

Lee made steady progress returning to the camp and was relieved when he came upon the trail head. He’d been truly concerned he wouldn’t be able to beat his kidnapper back and would, subsequently, have to stage an ambush somewhere along the road. He found it a much better plan to allow the kidnapper to return to the camp where he could assess his adversary tactically before committing to a course of action. He had no idea how many men the kidnapper may have picked up along the way or how heavily armed they were; and he had no intention of getting Harry killed in the crossfire.

The rough, barely trodden trail was a mere half-mile trek from camp by his earlier reckoning and he made good time. He entered the camp cautiously, scanning his surroundings and noting that everything was as he left it. The hut had burnt out and was now smoldering harmlessly with only a marginal amount of smoke. The guard, who was still tied and gagged, was now awake, his eyes following Lee intently, especially when the confiscated radio transmitter in Lee’s pocket suddenly came to life.

Chapter Nine

Harry stepped out of the van with Baxter’s rifle pointing menacingly at his chest as Fenton stood back gloating.

“Now, Nelson, time for the first part of your sentencing to commence,” he announced with a jerk of his pistol indicating the direction he wanted his prisoner to walk.

Baxter preceded them, taking up an offensive position on the driver side of the van as Harry moved forward, his mouth pursed tightly at Fenton’s insinuation that Seaview was about to be blown apart by an explosive device masquerading as a pen. He couldn’t let that happen, and having no other options left to him feigned a stumble just before rounding the front end of the van. Immediately, he used the unexpected movement to throw an elbow into Fenton’s gut behind him. His captor was caught off-guard and was ill-prepared for the attack as the admiral threw a punch to his jaw. Fenton fell backwards, but before Harry could even dive for the gun, he was subdued from behind. Baxter threw him against the van, eliciting a cry of pain when Harry’s head made contact with the hood. With his arm now was bent painfully behind his back, the uprising was over as the rough handling exasperated his concussion, leaving him with blinding pain and double vision.

“That will cost you, Nelson,” Fenton growled, wiping a stream of blood from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll take it out on Crane’s hide, but for now, you can witness your first torment,” he spat out, pulling a small device from his pocket and raising its antenna. “Move!” he ordered as Baxter pulled his shaken prisoner toward the pull-out.

Fenton fiddled with the device, cursing under his breath as they took the few steps toward the small outcropping, while attempting to stabilize the blinking light that he knew should be solid.

“What’s wrong with this?” Fenton complained. “I paid good money for…”

Harry’s vision cleared as he immediately scanned the horizon for Seaview in desperate concern for his crew.

“Uh… Boss?” Baxter interrupted while a relieved, proud, and victorious smile broke the corners of Harry’s mouth.

Fenton stopped his fiddling and looked up expecting to see the large, grey submarine sitting in the harbor.

“No!” he screamed, taking a shocked step forward. “Where is it?” he demanded.

Harry chuckled, not the wisest thing to do he knew; but his own elation, coupled with his desire to knock his adversary off balance fueled his very satisfied snicker.

Fenton’s eyes narrowed in disbelief but then widened as if “Plan B” suddenly came to him. “I can still blow her up!” he declared.

“Not if she’s out of range!” Harry shot back, praying silently that that was indeed the case.

Fenton pressed a prominent red button and waited for a reaction; a shot of water shooting upwards… a rumbled shock wave beneath his feet… debris… oil… ANYTHING! He pressed the button again and then again before lowering the detonator slowly, his heavy breaths signaling barely-controlled anger as he turned toward Harry.

“I still have you… and Captain Crane,” he announced with even darker intent in his vengeance filled eyes than ever before. “And I swear, Nelson, his pain will be 125 times more than I had planned originally… and so will yours,” he threatened before ordering his prisoner back to the van, his anger raging inside him.

Not in the mood to deal with another desperate attack by Nelson, he tied his prisoner’s hands behind his back. He climbed in behind Nelson, keeping a diligent eye on the source of his rage as they continued on the bumpy road. Once some of the passion of his anger had passed, he turned his mind toward other matters, not the least of these was how he would make Nelson pay given his plans had been inexplicably thwarted, but how? Why would Seaview leave her station with her captain missing and Admiral Nelson surrendering himself as ransom? It didn’t make sense! Had Seaview been somehow warned? he wondered. Though he didn’t think that was possible, the niggling in the back of his mind wouldn’t go away. They were nearly at the end of the road and would soon be at the camp, but he needed to know. He reached into his pocket for the radio transmitter, needing to know for sure that there were no more surprises once they reached camp.

“Base Camp, this is Randall. Come in.”

* * * * *

Lee closed the distance between himself and the guard, reaching for the transmitter as it beeped then gave way to a voice on the other end.

“Base Camp, this is Randall. Come in.”

He took a knee beside the guard, pulling the gun he had confiscated earlier from his belt and placing it firmly on the guard’s temple.

“Answer it,” he ordered in a dark whisper. “And believe me, I’d like nothing more than to end your sorry life right now; so, I’d be careful how you answered,” he threatened, pressing the barrel heavily against his head. He looked for compliance from his prisoner who nodded in agreement with noticeable terror in his youthful eyes, convincing Lee he would cooperate.

“Base Camp, this is Randall. Come in, Travis.”

Lee tugged down the gag and then depressed the talk button.

“Yeah, this is Base Camp,” he answered, a little too nervous for Lee’s liking.

“How’s our prisoner?” the voice on the other end asked.

“Tell him I’m still unconscious,” Lee instructed and then depressed the talk button again.

“Still unconscious,” he answered, his eyes filled with fear and not looking at all like the hired mercenary Lee had pegged him for at their first meeting.

“Good.” The voice sounded relieved. “We’ll be there soon. Out.”

“Good choice, Travis,” Lee issued darkly, complementing the guard on his decision to cooperate as he returned the gag to his mouth and realizing that he had very little time left to come up with a plan.

Lee stood and surveyed the camp, looking over his options when a thought occurred to him.

Looking down, he studied the young man’s features. He still couldn’t remember where he’d seen the leader before, but the short radio call had revealed something interesting.

Travis, Lee repeated silently.

He crouched down beside the young guard, studying his features then pulled the gag down. “You’re his son, aren’t you?” he questioned bluntly, drawing his conclusion from the family resemblance and the fact that the leader had used the young man’s first name in familiarity.

The young man pursed his lips defiantly, so Lee placed the gun barrel at the center of his forehead to make his point.

Travis swallowed hard before answering, his eyes changing from fear to the same dark anger he had witnessed in the leader.

“He’s my uncle! But you’ve met my father all right. I can tell you don’t remember,” he accused. “You don’t remember my father, do you?!”

Lee’s eyes narrowed before he nodded slowly in sudden recognition of a memory only a few months old.

“General Fenton,” he stated flatly, finally making the connection to the double agent who had come aboard Seaview under the guise of inspecting the ultra-secret deep-sea missiles for NATO. He was, however, actually there to obtain a map of the entire missile defense grid for their enemies. To that end, he had kidnapped Edith Nelson and extorted Harriman Nelson’s help to secure the map and it’s key. Lee had been devastated when General Hamid had provided evidence that Admiral Nelson was acting as a traitor by selling the map to a foreign agent. When Hamid was murdered and Harry efficiently framed, Lee had a choice to make; whether to believe that Harriman Nelson was a traitor or a patriot. With the dead body of Hamid between them, it was only their friendship that allowed Lee to listen to the entire story rather than arresting the admiral and throwing him into the brig. It was then that Harry provided the truth about his “kidnapped sister when he revealed that Edith Nelson’s passport was a ruse. The kidnapped woman was in fact, an ONI agent posing as his sister in order to ensure confidence that Harry had turned over a valid map. In this way, the other side would be content with the information they had secured, thus resting on their laurels while America and her allies’ defenses remained safe and undetected. General Fenton’s treachery ended abruptly when he died in an explosion designed to ensure that the map could not be tested with the equipment Harry had been forced to deliver.

Travis Fenton glared back at Lee with the same self-righteous arrogance and anger of his uncle, both of whom had conveniently forgotten that General Arthur Fenton was a traitor to the countries that had entrusted him with their security.

Rustling from the trail alerted him that his time was up. With no other course of action left to him, Lee moved his prisoner to his knees; not an easy task with his arms and legs hogtied together, and then pressed the gun firmly against Travis Fenton’s temple and waited to greet his company.

* * * * *

“This is it,” Francesco said, turning and running back to the car leaving Seaview’s rescue team to play catch-up as he started up the car and put it into gear even before Sharkey had pulled the door closed.

“I’m guessing we have about fifteen to twenty minutes to make up,” he announced, negotiating the dirt road far faster than one would under normal circumstances after finding the second side-road just beyond the bend of the road from the first one they’d investigated.

Chip braced himself by the door frame as they hit a particularly deep rut. “You’ll announce our arrival driving like this,” he shot back.

“I’ll slow it down once we’ve closed the distance,” Francesco assured in a side-glance. “I know what I’m doing, Commander,” he added calmly.

Chip accepted the explanation for the time being. He still didn’t know whether to trust Francesco’s intentions yet, but he was sure that he recognized the familiar look in his eyes. Lee had the same look when he was readying himself for an ONI mission; it was a determined, accept-nothing-but-success look. It was downright scary in its raw form, but he always felt it was what guided Lee to the solutions he needed to complete his missions and return home. Lee Crane, however, was also guided by a strong sense of morals… he didn’t know if the same could be said for Francesco.

Ten long minutes of bouncing around inside the car later, and their ultra-focused driver suddenly pulled over, put the car in park and jumped out, leaving so fast he left the car door open behind him, with Chip and his men hastily following.

“This is them,” Vic explained, pointing down to where tire tracks were mixed with foot prints. “See? Two sets of boots and one set of loafers.”

Chip nodded and took the lead following the trail of prints. “It looks like there was a scuffle,” he noted.

“Yeah, I saw that,” he answered, his eyes following the tracks toward an outcropping overlooking the sea.

“Mr. Morton,” Kowalski called out from the outcropping.

Chip made his way across the road; the view from this spot affording a picturesque view of the port town below.

“Seaview’s gone, Sir,” he explained obviously perplexed.

The docks were easily seen from even here, and out in the harbor where Seaview should have sat was just an empty sea.

“What do you make of it, Sir?” Patterson asked the Exec.

“I don’t know,” Chip answered, pursing his bottom lip while silently going through a list of possibilities; from new orders from COMSUBPAC, to a perceived threat, to something even more sinister.

“Look at this,” Francesco said, now crouching over another footprint; a distinct pointed-toe footprint of oxford dress shoes. “I’m guessing Crane was here as well,” he surmised.

“They had the Skipper, with them?!” Sharkey piped in, his eyebrows rising in the hope that the Captain was still alive.

“Not exactly,” Francesco said, “The rest of the footprints returned to the vehicle…”

“These prints took off on foot,” Chip interrupted, finishing the thought and trailing his eyes toward the road.

Vic nodded and looked ahead, then smiled at what he spied. A thin plume of smoke, like a campfire at the end of its life, rose above the trees in the distance ahead.

“I think we found them,” he stated with the first smile he had rendered thus far.

* * * * *

The van stopped at the end of the road as Baxter opened the side-door.

“Time for the final-reckoning,” Fenton announced darkly, climbing out while Baxter guarded their prisoner.

Harry followed, trying to ignore the pounding in his head as he took in his surroundings. A push of his shoulder from behind urged him forward as the three headed for a foot trail into the forest.

“Don’t try anything foolish, Nelson,” Fenton warned from behind.

Harry had no intention of escaping just yet. His whole purpose for surrendering was to secure Lee’s freedom, though he had no idea at this point how he was going to accomplish that feat. But he was a man who was accustomed to calculating both risks and solutions at a remarkable pace, so he kept his attention on the trail ahead of him, looking for anything that could be used as a tactical asset.

Fenton hurried their walk along and with Harry at the front of the trail, he was the first to take in and analyze the situation; a smoldering out-building burnt to the ground on one end of the camp; on the other, a guard on his knees in helpless surrender with Lee Crane standing behind him resting a gun on his temple.

Harry locked eyes with Lee and smiled thinly, just as Fenton stepped into the clearing behind him, taking in the view in shocked disbelief.

* * * * *

“Hello Admiral, I see you’ve met General Fenton’s brother,” he stated matter-of-factly, “now meet the General’s son… Travis,” he finished, putting extra pressure on his captive’s head; his introduction effectively informing Harry that they had an ace in the hole.

Immediately, Fenton called Lee’s poker hand by pressing his weapon against the Admiral’s head while his accomplice stood beside them armed with a rifle.

“What now, Captain Crane?” he taunted, not backing down in his resolve and knowing that his hand of cards was as high as Crane’s.

“It seems we’re at a stalemate,” Lee replied, both men keeping their weapons aimed on their prospective targets.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Fenton answered coolly. “You forget, Crane, I can accomplish my end goals with a single bullet to Nelson’s brain right now.”

“But not without cost,” Lee countered darkly, pressing his gun so hard into Travis’ temple that it elicited a gasp. “Surely, your brother’s son is worth something to you,” he challenged.

“Perhaps as much as Admiral Nelson’s life is worth to you?” his adversary shot back. “What will it be, Crane?” Randall Fenton yelled. “Or shall I show my resolve right now?” he threatened, repositioning the gun from Harry’s head to a point-blank aim on his side, resulting in a less deadly but very painful target.

“Don’t do it, Lee,” Harry ordered, as the standoff continued with air so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Lee knew his bluff had been called. He was confident he could pull off a kill shot if it had just been Fenton, but there was no way he could take out Fenton’s minion in time to save Harry. He also knew that he was incapable of killing an unarmed and bound man; but that wasn’t his only option.

“Two can play at that game,” he announced, never letting his poker face down and repositioning his gun from young Fenton’s head to his right shoulder.

Travis gasped, taking little comfort in Crane’s new choice of target as visions of the damage and pain a gunshot at point-blank range would incur passed before his eyes.

“Touché, Captain,” the older Fenton deadpanned, “but I do believe that you are well-aware that you’re outgunned. Come now, be reasonable. After you fire… Baxter here,” he explained with a nod toward his muscled accomplice, “will have a clear shot at you, and then I will have both you and Nelson. Of course, you’ll both be sporting bullet holes, but you’ll be my prisoners just the same.”

Fenton knew he had Crane over a barrel and grinned with the same familiar arrogance of his traitor brother.

Lee relinquished his aim, throwing the gun off to the side and releasing the hold on his prisoner, realizing that his bluff had been called and there wasn’t anything left to do but fold. He knew that Fenton had all the misguided motivation necessary to shoot Harry outright, so it would do him no good to give him a reason to draw first blood.

Immediately, Fenton’s man crossed the camp, urging Lee to step away from his captive. Lee complied, his hands in the air as Baxter drew a large survival knife and made quick work of his bonds. As soon as Travis was free, he picked up the discarded weapon and headed straight for Lee. The unbridled anger of a man who had been scared out of his wits, mixed with vengeful spite erupted as he advanced on the one who had won a hand to hand combat, hog-tied him, and then threatened him with a gun to his head.

“I’m going to kill you, Crane!” he threatened but stopping short at his uncle’s next words and rethinking his strategy.

“Patience, Travis,” Randall Fenton admonished, before nodding to the hired muscle. “Tie him up, Baxter. Make sure he’s secure.”

Lee locked eyes with Harry as his hands were pulled behind his back and tied. Each man effectively kept their regrets inside, neither one wanting to give Fenton the satisfaction. He was deeply sorry that he hadn’t been able to stop the Admiral from coming, but at least he had warned Seaview. He could only hope that the boat and her crew were miles from Fenton’s remote detonation device.

A final knot tightened his bonds, as young Fenton advanced, his intentions fairly clear as he readied himself for the retribution he knew Travis was seeking. He wasn’t sure if it was his father’s death, or the humiliation he had suffered, but the fire in the young man’s eyes told him to expect payback. With his arms rendered harmless, all he could do was plant his feet as Travis yelled and then charged, tackling Lee to the ground and pistol whipping him across the face.

* * * * *

Chip held on tight as Vic Francesco took the road faster than he had promised earlier, but made no complaint. It was just a hunch, but the fact that Seaview had left her station with crew still ashore meant something significant had happened. If whatever precipitated O’Brien’s decision to dive and move out of range was connected to the kidnapping, then they were possibly working on borrowed time. There was also the possibility that Seaview hadn’t left willfully, but had been forced to dive; perhaps the entire abduction was a diversion for a take-over of the boat. The latter might be far-fetched and grasping for straws, but attempts to take-over the world’s only private nuclear submarine with US Navy Reserve status had happened before. At any rate, he had a feeling that the faster they located Harry and Lee, the better.

He only hoped they weren’t announcing their arrival with the amount of dust they were stirring up on the road. He was about to admonish Francesco on that point when they rounded a bend and the car was suddenly brought to a halt. Up ahead where the road ended was the vehicle they’d been looking for. The men jumped into action, unsure if the van was occupied as they approached. They surrounded it, and at the direction of Chip’s finger count, stormed the doors only to find it empty. Knowing they were close then turned their attention to the now almost imperceptible plume of smoke that Francesco had pointed out earlier.

“Can’t be far ahead, Sir,” Sharkey noted.

“Here’s a path,” Ski whispered.

“You take the trail; I’ll circle around,” Francesco suggested, moving toward his objective without waiting for an answer.

Chip nodded and turned toward Sharkey. “Move ahead, men; I’m going with Francesco.”

Sharkey stepped in closer. “Are you sure, Sir?”

“Get to it, Chief,” Chip ordered noting that the agent had already disappeared into the forest.

Sharkey exhaled a sigh. “Man, I sure hope this Francesco character is on the up and up,” he muttered under his breath as he watched the Exec step into the forest, before refocusing himself. “All right, men, what are you waiting for?” he urged, as Seaview’s men traveled the foot path they hoped would lead to Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane.

* * * * *

“Lee!” Harry yelled, but it happened so fast. All of the sudden, the young man threw Lee to the ground, issuing a devastating blow with the butt of his handgun. Just as quickly, Baxter was there, stopping the next strike in mid-air as Travis Fenton wheeled back for another attack.

Randall Fenton ushered a bound Harry over to the scene, pushing him to his knees beside a dazed but conscious Lee Crane.

“Travis!” he yelled to his nephew, trying to rein in the unbridled anger in the young man. “You’ll have your chance, I promise you! Now, stick with the plan and I swear Crane and Nelson will both pay for your father’s blood.”

Travis breathed heavily and blinked, then nodded his understanding and shrugged off the Baxter’s restraining hold while his uncle towered over the naval officers.

“Remember what I told you, Nelson,” Randall Fenton said darkly. “Crane will bear the pain for your betrayal of my brother’s trust, and you’ll watch every single second of his demise.”

Harry remained quiet with his lips pursed tightly; he had no intention of giving Fenton any satisfaction in a useless plea for their lives. His nemesis didn’t stick around to gloat, however, and walked his nephew to the other side of the camp while Baxter guarded them, settling himself on a nearby rock.

With relative privacy now at hand, Harry quickly turned his attention to his best friend.

“Lee?” he called quietly.

“I’m okay, Admiral,” he answered breathily, a bright red spot on his cheek declaring exactly where Travis had laid his heavy blow. “It’s not bad… I just got caught off-guard,” he explained, licking his dry lips and refocusing his blurry vision.

“Why did you give up the gun, Lee?” Harry questioned in raw frustration. Blast it all!

“To buy time,” he answered in a discreet whisper.

“For what?” the Admiral replied incredulously.

“Well… no bullet holes for one thing,” Lee answered with a half-smile, rolling to his side and pushing himself into a sitting position with his elbow, all under the watchful eye of their guard.

Harry followed suit, settling himself from his knees to sit beside Lee and sighed. “Well, it was a stupid plan, Captain,” he joked sarcastically, their attempt at humor only a temporary respite from their troubles. Blast it all! He cursed silently at the turn of events. He had come with a plan, but his transponder had been discovered almost immediately, and he had no assurance that Chip could find them in the middle of the island’s tropical forest.

“Admiral, I warned Seaview… at least she’s safe.”

“You warned Seaview?” Harry clarified, and immediately put two and two together. “And you came back? Why, Lee?” he questioned testily. His question was met by momentary silence before Lee answered calmly.

“I expect for the same reason you came for me,” he replied, not missing Harry’s annoyance that he had willingly put himself back into danger after obviously having the upper hand over his captor.

Harry swallowed hard, a lump of reality caught in his throat. It was true; he had also been safe and sound aboard the boat and had willingly put himself in harm’s way for Lee’s sake.

“Besides,” Lee continued with a half-smile to break the heavy mood, “I hadn’t planned on getting caught,” but Harry’s fire wasn’t completely abated yet.

“Blast it, Lee! Don’t you know what he has planned?” he asked in frustration, unable to even voice Fenton’s diabolical plan to torment him with Lee’s torture and ultimate death.

Lee’s smile faded. “I know, Admiral, he told me,” he answered solemnly, but their conversation was cut short before he could say anything else as Fenton and his nephew approached.

Chapter Ten

Chip caught up with Vic Francesco, following the agent through the tropical forest. It was rough going without a trail, but necessary to provide a tactical advantage over Harry and Lee’s captors. He wasn’t an ONI spy, but he’d done enough ONI-conscripted work to know what he was doing. Francesco, for his part, seemed to have a rather good idea of the layout of the land, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He still wasn’t sure if the man could be trusted. Suddenly, Francesco stopped and dropped to a crouch.

“Smell that?” Francesco answered with a tilt of the head. “They’re just ahead,” he whispered.

Chip nodded, acknowledging the faint smell of what he perceived to be a dying campfire, although the scent wasn’t quite right.

“Are your men in place?”

Chip fiddled with his portable radio, a communication device small enough to fit inside a shirt pocket. Set on silent-hail, a flashing green light announced the call, followed by a subdued whisper.

“Sharkey here.”

“Morton here. Are you in place, Chief?”

“The camp clearing is just ahead. We’re holding our position just shy of it.”

“Acknowledged; hold until further orders,” he replied, turning his attention back to Francesco. “They’re set. I’d have them fan out, but as good as they are, three men rustling through this dense forest…”

“No, you’re right,” Vic agreed. “You’re pretty handy out here, Commander,” he commented in regards to Chip’s skills thus far. “You move into position from here, I’ll circle around and we can coordinate an attack in say… five minutes.”

Chip pursed his lips; the moment of truth had arrived. Did he trust this man enough to allow him to operate on his own? So far on this rescue mission, he had yielded several times to the spy’s obvious skills. It had been Francesco’s tracking ability that had steered the rescue detail in the right direction in the first place, but he simply had nothing to go on to know whether to trust his intentions.

Chip’s hesitation was noticeable and the momentary silence palpable.

“You still don’t trust me?” Francesco stated more than asked.

“I still haven’t decided,” Chip countered solemnly, but any further discussion was made moot by the gunshot that unexpectedly reverberated throughout the air. “Move in!” he urged Sharkey on the radio before heading toward the camp, following behind Francesco who hadn’t waited for the order.

* * * * *

“I see you managed to burn down the cell,” Fenton noted dryly, with a nod toward the smoldering heap where the bamboo and palm leaf cell once stood. “No matter,” he continued, “It changes nothing. All it means is that Nelson here will get a close-up view of your… reparation,” he informed, lording over his prisoner, though Lee offered no hint of fear.

“Blast it, Fenton!” Harry interjected. “This isn’t war, and there are no reparations to be paid.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Nelson!” he said, tugging Harry up from his sitting position with Baxter's help, while Lee was kept in place at gunpoint by Travis. “You declared war on the Fenton family when you double-crossed my brother in that warehouse.”

“Your brother was acting as a double-agent, extorting intelligence that threatened world peace,”
Harry challenged.

“My brother was a believer in a Cause!”

“A Cause that seeks world domination, and threatens freedom everywhere!” Harry shot back.

“You can lecture me about my brother’s morals when you betrayed your country for the safety of one person?” Randall Fenton accused. “You weighed the balance of world peace on the scales with your sister’s life on the other side and willingly gave up the entire network! Yes! I know the whole story,” he added, breathing hard for the excess of strong emotions spewing out of him.

Harry swallowed hard, showing the right amount of remorse for the scenario Fenton just described. It was apparent that General Fenton’s brother had been briefed by the same enemy forces that had worked so hard to obtain the silo locations in the first place. Immediately he realized that his mission of three months ago was at stake. No matter what, he needed to protect the story that the enemy had accurate missile locations; otherwise, all that they had worked for would have been for nothing; including the unfortunate deaths of General Hamid and a Seaview crewman who had accompanied them on the raid.

Harry shot a regretful eye toward Lee as if a terrible secret had been revealed, and hoped that Seaview’s Captain was ready to play his part convincingly. Fortunately, the operative in Lee caught on handily to what needed to be done, producing an academy award winning look of utter disappointment in his mentor and friend.

“Admiral?” he questioned feigning devastation at the revelation.

“I’m… sorry, Lee,” Harry replied locking eyes, but Lee looked away, ashamed by the admiral’s actions.

“So, Crane here never knew the whole story,” Fenton gloated, clearly pleased that he would destroy Nelson in every way possible, especially in the eyes of his “son”.

“It doesn’t matter what he knew!” Travis jumped in. “Crane was at the warehouse; he was complicit in my father’s death in order to cover up Nelson’s crimes. That makes him as guilty as Nelson!”

Harry concealed his relief that Operation Traitor/Patriot was still safe. The enemy had analyzed the situation and had come away with two important conclusions; that they did indeed have the true locations of the missiles, and that Harry had blown up the warehouse and killed all the witnesses to hide the fact that he had betrayed his country.

Randall Fenton nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Nelson. The Fenton honor demands blood for blood,” he stated rather calmly. “Your blood will come soon enough,” he explained. “But not until you’ve had time to relive every detail of what happens to Crane today!”

He kept his gun trained on Harry’s middle and motioned for the guard to help Travis, where the two pulled Lee into a stand and maneuvered him to a post, placed predominantly in front of what was left of the smoldering cell. Lee wasn’t exactly helpful when they secured him to the post, but with Fenton’s deadly aim on Harry, he offered no real resistance. He knew what was coming, but the longer he held out, the longer Harry lived. It was as simple as that.

Travis secured the final bond and then manhandled Lee’s jaw to show his dominance. “I’m going to make you pay, Crane,” he spat out hatefully.

“Untie me and let’s see how that goes,” he challenged defiantly, which ended with his gut receiving a solid fisted blow.

“Let’s see how smart that mouth of yours is when I’m finished with you,” Travis replied, stepping away to ready his gear.

Lee breathed shallowly, his bonds preventing him from doubling over. The blow wasn’t unexpected, but damn if it didn’t take his breath away. His jab hadn’t been steeped in stupidity by ticking off his would-be tormentor, nor was it testosterone filled machoism. It was all part of the mind game that sometimes worked to his benefit when an opponent became so enraged that he made mistakes; mistakes he could capitalize on. However, this time he wasn’t sure it was the wisest move as he noted the package Travis was unwrapping on top of a wooden crate; a set of knives in different sizes and shapes.

“Now the fun begins,” Randall Fenton declared, his statement void of any semblance of humanity a sane person might harbor.

Lee locked eyes with Harry and twitched a small half-smile that disappeared immediately, meant to convey to the Admiral that it wasn’t his fault, but the intensity in Harry’s eyes told him he hadn’t been successful.

“This is madness, Fenton,” Harry pleaded, hoping to stop the carnage before it began and not unwilling to humble himself in a desperate plea.

Fenton ignored Nelson’s outburst and walked toward his nephew, placing an approving hand on his shoulder as he arranged the knives then turned to stop in front of Lee.

“It was most unfortunate that you burned down the cell, Captain Crane. Now before we can begin, we’re going to have to take some of Nelson’s fight away.”

Lee was taken completely by surprise as Fenton turned and aimed at Harry’s heart. “No!” he cried out as Fenton laughed, obtaining the response he was looking for as Harry stood firm, staring down the barrel from about ten paces. Suddenly, Fenton changed his aim and fired, discharging a bullet into the admiral's thigh. Immediately, he fell to the ground curling in pain and unable to grab his newly wounded leg with his hands tied behind his back.

“Admiral!” Lee called in shock at the unexpected turn of events. He had thought he figured Fenton out, that Harry would be safe as long as he held out; but the madman had turned everything upside down.

“Just remember, Crane,” he delivered darkly nearly nose to nose, “you did this when you burned down the cell!” He stepped back and seemed to emotionally regroup before turning to his nephew. “Now, my boy, it’s your turn,” he said without a hint of remorse as Travis Fenton selected his knife.

“No Fenton!” Harry breathed out, watching from the ground, physically restrained and unable to do anything but watch the horrific acts of a madman and his kin, both bent on vengeance and both lacking decent humanity to question their actions.

* * * * *

Travis moved in front of Lee and licked his lips. In his hand, he held a foreboding, dangerous knife glinting in the afternoon sun and grasped in a white-knuckled grip. In his eyes was the same lost look he’d shown earlier when he was hog-tied and terrified for his life. Lee was sure that for all his bravado, he wasn’t up for the dastardly deed of torturing a fellow human being. Perhaps, there was still enough of a decent boy left to talk to, one that hadn’t been completely corrupted by an uncle that refused to acknowledge his own brother’s crimes.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lee counseled calmly, trying to reach the young man before he took a step that would change his life forever.

“Get on with it, Travis,” Randall urged emotionless while sitting on a crate and folding his arms.

Travis gripped the knife even harder as it shook unwittingly in his hand, all the while working up the nerve to make the first strike against his victim’s flesh.

“Travis!” Harry called from his pained position on the ground. “No matter what you think I’ve done, once you start down this road, you’ll be paying for it for the rest of your life. Can you live with that?”

“Shut up!” the older Fenton shouted, making his way over to Nelson and issuing a devastating kick to his bleeding leg.

“Admiral!” Lee yelled, looking past Travis and his knife to the Admiral, breathing hard and moaning from the cruelty inflicted upon him.

“He killed your father, boy!” Randall Fenton bellowed as he made to his way toward his nephew. “We talked about this. If you want to hurt Nelson, this is how.”

Travis’ eyes danced back and forth as if mentally bouncing between two decisions. Suddenly, his eyes focused and locked on his victim. They were darkened with the resolve of his decision as he raised the knife for a plunge. All the sounds around him faded into distorted whispers. In the background he vaguely heard Nelson call his name; even his uncle’s voice was somewhat muted. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he committed wholeheartedly to his next act. All the planning to get to this point and all the words of hate his uncle had poured into him suddenly welled up uncontrollably. His hatred for Nelson’s part in his father’s death, and blind loyalty to his uncle combined with the humiliation Crane had inflicted, creating a wild rage that couldn’t be tamed. Without warning, he changed the game plan of a slow torture and aimed for a kill-shot into Crane’s heart. His mind was set; his path determined, and his heart hardened. Screaming like a madman, he began the downward thrust fully committed to the attack. Suddenly, it was if all the sounds around him came rushing in all at once when crimson blood splattered on his shirt. He took a step back and looked down, sickened by the sight as Crane pleaded with him, but he was driven by a warped sense of family honor that transcended any hope of human decency at this point; and like a rabid animal he raised the knife again.

* * * * *

Chip moved into position next to Francesco who was crouched low and scanning the camp.

“Hold your position,” he ordered into the radio in a whisper as he moved in beside Francesco. The gunshot they heard a moment earlier had hastened their approach, but now that they had a found the camp, they relegalized that the situation had stabilized enough to properly assess the danger.

“Three gunmen, the tall one is the leader,” the agent explained, “Admiral Nelson has been shot, leg wound; Crane’s been immobilized.”

Chip scrutinized the leader, his eyes narrowing in vague recognition. “The leader looks familiar. What’s that one doing?” he asked rhetorically, watching the youngest of the three kidnappers fiddling with something on a crate.

“Now my boy, it’s your turn,” the tall older man declared in the background as they surveyed the scene, taking their emotions out of the equation.

“We’ll need to coordinate the attack,” Francesco stated, watching as the younger man picked something up and stepped up to stand directly in front of Crane.

“He’s got a knife,” Chip informed, reaching for his radio. “Chief…”

“Wait,” Francesco interrupted. “If we rush them without a plan then Nelson and Crane are both dead.”

The sounds of Harry’s pleas for Lee’s life were playing in the background, but Chip had to disconnect in order to determine the best course of action.

“Then we all pick a target,” Chip decided.

“Agreed,” Francesco replied.

Chip raised the radio. “Chief, do you have targets in sight?”

“Aye Sir, we have a clear shot of the tall one and the big guy in black. The one with the knife is too close to the Skipper from our vantage,” he answered.

“I’ve got the kid,” Francesco whispered to Chip’s acknowledging nod.

“We’ll cover the one closest to the Skipper. On my count…”

Suddenly the situation escalated as the tall man yelled, then unexpectedly advanced upon the Admiral, viciously kicking his wounded leg.

“Hold your position, Chief,” Chip urged attempting to organize a successful surprise attack and not fail because their emotions were driving their actions.

Francesco ignored the heightened situation and determinedly assumed a position to shoot, taking aim and waiting for Chip’s order to coordinate the attack.

“You can’t make the shot from here,” Chip asserted, taking exception that his vantage wasn’t good enough to clear Lee.

“I can make this, Commander.”

At that moment, the decision was made for them as the young abductor suddenly re-positioned the knife directly over Lee’s heart.

“He’s going to cut the Skipper!” Sharkey exclaimed.

“Move in!” Chip ordered, just as a blood-curdling scream filled the air.

Chapter Eleven

Lee watched as Travis’ eyes grew insanely dark, his decision made he raised the knife over his heart and drew back the knife for a downward plunge. Lee mentally readied himself for the attack, unable to defend himself in his bound position. There was no moment of self-checking in Travis’ eyes as he committed to his decision and lunged forward with a terrifying scream. But just as the knife lowered toward his heart, multiple shots rang out in loud reports that echoed throughout the forest sending squawking birds to flight. Travis took an unbelieving step back and looked down at the wet blossom of blood spreading rapidly across his shirt. He looked back at Lee, only now comprehending that the blood was his own and not his victim’s.

Lee saw his eyes changed from shock and disbelief to fury and rage once again. A few feet from them, Randall Fenton rolled in pain from a shoulder wound as sounds of advancing men entered the camp. Travis held his ground, apparently in shock, yet somehow undeterred despite his wound.

“Don’t do it, Travis,” Lee pleaded, knowing that the next shot would end the standoff if he attempted to strike and hoping that the young man could let go of his hate long enough to listen to reason.

Travis’ face morphed into pure madness as the young man committed to the attack once again. Multiple shots were fired once again ending the threat as Travis succumbed to two shots fired in tandem that reverberated throughout the forest.

Lee watched Travis fall in almost slow motion, and then instinctively followed the direction of the shots fired to see Chip Morton standing beside another man, both lowering their guns. Even as a seasoned ONI operative, he was shaken at the close call. Even so, still bound to the post, his first thoughts were for Harry as Seaview’s men took control of the camp, with Kowalski taking up a position next to the Admiral. Patterson stood guard over Randall Fenton while Sharkey took off to follow Baxter, who was hobbling into the forest in an attempt to escape. A running dive caught him by the foot, and the intimidating sound of a bullet loading into a chamber stopped his struggle.

“Come on, you,” Sharkey ordered, pulling his prisoner to his feet and leading him back to the center of the camp, nodding a thanks toward Francesco who had covered him during the capture.

“Are you okay, Lee?” Chip asked, reaching to untie him from the post.

Lee pulled himself together, the strong emotions of nearly being stabbed to death; to a gun battle so close he felt the bullets whiz by, not easily ignored.

He took a deep breath and nodded. “I'm fine. What about the Admiral?”

“Kowalski's got him covered,” Chip answered confidently, still working on the knots.

Lee breathed in and surveyed the camp, his eyes stopping on Vic Francesco. “Who’s your new friend?” he asked, knowing there had to be a story behind the stranger’s participation in the rescue.

“Francesco; someone the Admiral once knew with a convoluted past. ONI said he was dead, but he claims he's a double-agent. The Admiral didn’t have time to check out his story.”

“Do you trust him?”

Chip’s brow tightened in consideration. “I don't think we would have found you in time if it hadn't been for him,” he admitted honestly just as he released the final knot.

Once free, Lee stepped around the dead body of Travis Fenton, and then paused. “I thought for a moment I’d gotten through to him,” he said regretfully.

“He was going to kill you, Lee.”

“I know,” he acknowledged and then headed to check on Harry.

* * * * *

“Easy there, Sir,” Kowalski urged, reaching the Admiral and making quick order of the ropes binding his arms behind his back. That job complete, he set to work on the bullet wound.

Harry grunted at the discomfort, but was far more concerned about Lee’s condition. He was relieved when it appeared as though he was uninjured as Chip worked on freeing him. Sharkey had subdued the guard attempting to make a run for it into the forest; young Travis Fenton was dead; and his uncle, Randall, was in Patterson’s custody. He was only half-surprised to see Vic Francesco was involved in the rescue; it was, after all, his intervention that had prevented his abduction in the first place.

Off to his side, a distraught Randall Fenton was receiving field treatment for a bullet wound to the shoulder, while mumbling incoherently about his nephew’s demise and something about failing the Fenton name.

“That should do until Doc gets ahold of you, Sir,” Ski informed the Admiral.

“Thank you, Kowalski, now help me up,” he ordered stubbornly.

“If it’s all the same to you, Sir, I’d like you to stay as still as possible. We just got the bleeding under control.”

“I’m fine, Kowalski…”

“Admiral!” Lee interrupted, dropping to his knee beside Harry.

“I’m fine, Lee, it’s just a flesh wound,” Harry assured.

Lee looked to Ski for confirmation.

“A straight through-and-through, Sir. We just got the bleeding stopped though, and I’d really like him to remain still,” Kowalski replied, seeking help from Seaview’s Captain on the matter.

Lee sighed in palpable relief, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I think we can manage that. Right Admiral?”

Harry started to protest but relented. “Do I have a choice?” he grumbled.

“Humor me,” Lee replied with a small grin, laced with concern he wasn’t quite ready to let go of yet. He squeezed Harry’s shoulder, nodded toward Kowalski to take care of him and then stood, turning to survey the camp and process all that had happened here. His eyes were drawn immediately to the newcomer, who was currently studying the ashes of the cell and walked towards him.

“How did you manage to burn it down?” Francesco asked, feeling Lee’s scrutiny behind him.

“Old boy scout trick,” the dark-haired captain deadpanned.

“It made tracking easy… bamboo has a distinctive odor,” Vic replied evenly.

“I hear we have you to thank for our timely rescue,” Lee offered graciously, but still cautious.

Francesco acknowledged with a slight shrug. “How's Nelson?”

“He's going to be all right, a straight-through,” Lee explained before switching gears. “I need to know where you stand in all this.”

A moment of silence was followed by a question. “How familiar are you with ONI?”

“Very.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Vic admitted, still staring at the burnt heap in front of him and saying nothing more on the subject, as if their exchange had said it all. “I’ll help you get him back to the vehicles then I’m gone,” he said, turning and glancing toward the admiral.

Lee noticed his conflict; as if he wanted to approach the Admiral but wasn’t sure if he was welcome. Lee didn’t know the story behind his reticence, but Harry hadn’t seemed concerned about Francesco’s presence here at all. That meant the Admiral trusted him despite whatever “convoluted past” Chip had eluded to earlier.

“There’s a lot of water under the bridge, isn’t there?” Lee asked perceptively.

“A lot of water… a lot of pain… mostly caused by me,” he pondered regretfully while still watching the admiral. “When everything possible has been done to make you appear to be a traitor, then there’s not much to be said to a patriot like him,” he said regretfully, the last said with total respect for Harry.

Lee’s brow tightened at the incredible coincidence of the words Francesco had chosen and how they mirrored the words Harry had used three months ago when he’d had to make a choice whether to believe that the Admiral wasn’t selling out the security of America and her allies for the sake of the sister he loved.

I’m not a traitor, but everything possible has been done to make me appear that I am. It’s of vital importance.

Lee remembered the conversation vividly in the Admiral’s cabin after the body of Colonel Hamid had been removed.

Though, he wasn’t sure what had transpired between the Admiral and Francesco, he had first-hand experience on just how good ONI was at making a true patriot appear to be a traitor. It wasn’t like ONI had a secret handshake or anything, but something told him Francesco was on the up and up.

“Stick around long enough to talk to him. I think you’ll find that he understands a lot more than you think,” Lee replied before walking away, leaving Francesco staring at the ashes.

* * * * *

Preparations had been made and they were nearly ready to leave the camp, though their resources were limited and it would take several trips to do so.

“We’re about ready to head out, Admiral,” Lee informed Nelson, who had won at least a partial battle, having petitioned and won the right move into a more comfortable, and in his eyes dignified, position. He was now leaning against a rock, his leg immobilized but still able to participate like an admiral instead of a patient.

“Fine,” Harry replied, barely keeping in check the throbbing bullet wound and headache that were rivaling for top honors on the pain index. Despite his own discomfort he was also concerned with Lee’s condition. Though Seaview’s Captain had escaped a bullet wound, he was sure Lee hadn’t gone unscathed in all this. He was more anxious to get Lee into Jamie’s hands than to secure medical treatment for himself.

Lee turned, taking one last look over the camp as Francesco approached him.

“Can I have a few minutes with him?”

“Just a few, we need to head out,” Lee agreed and stepped aside to give the two men privacy for a conversation he was sure they both needed.

* * * * *

Chip checked Randall Fenton’s ropes. His hands were tied in front of him due to his shoulder wound. He had since composed himself and was currently seated directly across from the draped body of his dead nephew. His eyes darkened with a combination of grief, anger, and unfulfilled vengeance.

The tall blond officer moved onto their second prisoner, who had been grazed in the hip by a bullet. The muscled man’s hands were tied behind his back and seemed to be rather disconnected from the pain of Travis Fenton’s death, and Chip decided he was more than likely a hired mercenary with no stake in the venture except cold hard cash.

“You’ve really bought into Nelson’s lies, haven’t you?” Fenton asked in a low disturbing tone and just loud enough for Chip to hear.

The question caught Chip off guard as he checked Baxter’s knots. Fenton had been extremely distraught about Travis’ death. Though his cries were mostly incoherent, he had waffled between guilt over not protecting his nephew, to pitiful pleas asking his dead brother to forgive him. This was the first time Fenton had spoken lucidly since they had stormed the camp.

“Did you know Nelson was a traitor? Did he tell you how he sold out national security…”

“Shut up, Fenton,” Baxter growled, his voice carrying a distinct and very real threat.

Fenton’s cheek twitched in momentary reconsideration, but barreled on, seeking to hurt Nelson with the “truth” of his betrayal, his words the last weapon he had to use against the admiral. “Nelson left your country vulnerable…”

“Say another word, Fenton, and I swear, you’re dead,” Baxter warned.

Fenton’s eyes darted back and forth before deciding to heed the not-so-veiled warning.

Chip continued checking the ropes as if ignoring the revealing exchange, but he was troubled. It wasn’t the accusations against the Admiral; he was well-aware of the Admiral’s mission. Harry had played the traitor furtively without even Lee’s knowledge at first, but to pull off the mission’s objective he was forced to turn to a select few aboard Seaview in order to convince General Fenton’s organization that they did indeed have the missile locations. He’d been included in the plan to track the Admiral to the warehouse, allow the General time to report, and then destroy the evidence in order to protect the real position of the missile network. What had shocked him, however, was the change of tone the guard had displayed. His intimidating threat just didn’t seem indicative of a hired man.

“Sorry about sticking you with the cleanup, Chip,” Lee interrupted, before stopping to squeeze the bridge of his nose in a vain effort to stave off a headache derived from too many hours on his feet after being abducted, drugged, and generally roughed up; all in the matter of two and a half days.

“Don’t worry about it, Lee. Are you okay?” Seaview’s Exec asked, switching gears and speaking freely despite their prisoners in such close proximity.

“Yeah, more tired than anything, I think.”

Chip nodded and then tilted his head toward the conversation now going on between Harry and Francesco. “The conversation looks a little intense,” he noted.

“Yeah,” Lee agreed before changing the subject. “Chip, there’s no reason why we can’t leave Kowalski here with you. I’m perfectly capable of hiking a half-mile to the car,” he argued, second guessing his current wisdom in leaving Francesco with Chip to guard the prisoners while Patterson and Kowalski assisted Harry on the hike.

“Humor me, Lee,” Chip countered. “It’s not going to help the Admiral any if your legs finally fold up under you before reaching the car. You’re dead on your feet now,” he persisted; though Crane was the superior officer, Chip had flexed his own influence as Exec, and perhaps even more pull, as best friend in the matter. “Sharkey will drive you and the Admiral to Seaview,” Chip continued, reiterating the plan they had already agreed upon, “Francesco and I can handle things until then.”

Lee bit his bottom lip, reconsidering the plan silently. Once they reached the vehicles, Patterson and Ski would return to the camp. Chief Sharkey was tasked to drive them to the outcropping where Lee would contact Seaview. The cleanup would fall upon ONI and the island officials, while he and Harry were transferred to Seaview for medical care.

He only wished he knew the backstory between the Admiral and Francesco. He had made decisions based on his gut feelings concerning the double agent, and now he was left wondering about the wisdom of those decisions. He was unaccustomed to second guessing himself and realized that he was much more tired than he’d like to admit. Upon that recognition, he redirected himself and submitted to the logic. Yes, there were risks, but it was a good solution to what needed to be done.

“Very well,” he conceded, just as Francesco and Harry wrapped up their conversation. “Let’s get this done.”

* * * * *

Ski and Patterson each took up an arm over their shoulder as they aided Admiral Nelson’s hike to the vehicles. Crane followed behind on his own steam, with Sharkey discreetly observing the Skipper’s progress as the last one on the trail. The half-mile would have been an easy trek had Harry not been sporting a bullet wound in the thigh. Fortunately, the hike was relatively short as the group broke from the forest path into the clearing where both vehicles were still parked.

“There you go, Sir,” Sharkey encouraged as the Admiral was painfully settled into the backseat while Lee issued final instructions to Ski and Patterson.

He patted Ski on the shoulder then reached for the car door when gunshots echoed from the direction of the camp.

“Chief, get the Admiral out of here!” Crane shouted.

“But Sir…” Sharkey protested alongside the Admiral’s own protest, “Lee!”

“That’s an order!” he yelled, slamming the car door and running back to the trail with Kowalski and Patterson following behind.

Chapter Twelve

Dreamscape

Chip’s relief at Harry and Lee’s departure was hidden beneath a practiced veiled expression, which offered no hint of his personal feelings on almost any matter. He watched them disappear onto the trail and then turned his attention back to his two prisoners; Francesco was checking the ropes on Baxter, while Fenton scrutinized the path Harry and Lee had just taken.

“You’re a fool, Morton,” the grey-haired man commented darkly. “You should choose your heroes more wisely.”

Chip glared at Fenton but said nothing as he walked to a supply box and pulled out a bandana hanging partially out of the side.

“Nelson is a traitor of the worst kind!” he shouted, still attempting to discredit the admiral. “He traded everybody you love for the selfish sake of his sister!”

“Shut up, Fenton!” Baxter snarled again.

“Remember that when the missiles begin to launch! Nelson is a coward!”

Chip had had enough. Whether the bandana had been used to keep mosquitoes off someone else’s neck wasn’t his concern as he twisted it into a gag and then applied it tightly around his prisoner’s mouth.

Fenton struggled until the last knot was tied then with no other form of communication left available to him, glared in protest as Morton towered over him.

“You’re delusional. Take a good look at that boy lying over there, Fenton,” Chip replied tersely. “You failed your brother when you sacrificed his son for the sake of your own selfish need of vengeance,” he finished, uncharacteristically breaking his usual stoicism. “Now, ask yourself who the coward is.”

He turned away disgusted that he’d allowed Fenton get to him and took a deep breath to clear his mind. The unexpected sound of a twig breaking in the forest brought his attention back into sharp focus as he scrutinized the dense foliage just beyond the clearing… and that’s when he was clobbered from behind.

* * * * *

Vic Francesco stood over an unconscious Chip Morton as blood ran down a cut just behind his ear. He had tossed a pebble and the ruse had been successful in distracting Morton long enough for the surprise attack. He knew he was working against the clock, so he holstered his gun and reached for a knife hidden inside his cowboy boots. He moved behind Baxter and made quick work of the ropes binding his hands and then pulled the injured man to a stand.

“Let’s get out of here,” Francesco ordered guiding him toward the protection of the jungle.

“Wait!” Baxter protested, looking back at Fenton whose eyes were pleading to be included in the unexpected rescue.

“No time for that, he’s not important anyway.”

“But he knows too much,” Baxter countered with a grimace, though he didn’t know his rescuer he assumed his real boss had made this arrangement.

“We don’t have…” Francesco started to answer, but was interrupted when an unexpected gunshot sounded and he caught a bullet in his arm. He ignored the wound and returned the fire, as Morton dove taking Fenton to the ground with him. Recognizing their precarious predicament, he wrapped Baxter’s arm around his good shoulder and dragged the wounded man into the forest.

* * * * *

Chip watched Francesco’s retreat into the forest but ceased firing. Thankfully, Francesco and Baxter valued their escape more than silencing potential witnesses. The last thing he needed was a dangerous fire exchange, especially when he and Fenton were in the open, with little cover.

Fenton, however, was still trying to coax Baxter into returning for him by squirming and attempting a muffled cry through the tightly bound gag.

“I’d keep quiet if I were you, Fenton,” Chip whispered while keeping a watchful eye on the jungle and listening intently in the event he was flanked from another direction. “You weren’t deemed important enough for the escape and you’re likely considered a liability at this point,” he warned.

Fenton’s eyes darted back and forth, apparently considering Chip’s assessment and subsequently ceased struggling. His eyes grew exceptionally wide when he heard a rustling in back of them and whimpered.

“Quiet!” Chip ordered, turning toward the sound and putting himself in between Fenton and the jungle, waiting for whoever was charging through to expose themselves. An undeniable terror-filled whimper escaped from beneath his prisoner’s gag while Chip assessed both the sound and the direction from which it came.

“Relax, it’s my men,” he informed not so gently, once he’d determined the sound was coming from the trail, but remaining vigilant until he was sure.

“I should have known,” he mumbled to himself, when the first person to break the trail was Lee. While he fully expected Patterson and Kowalski, he had hoped that Lee would have been long gone by now.

A quick assessment of the situation was followed by Seaview’s Captain taking in both the missing prisoner and the equally missing self-proclaimed “double-agent”. Motioning to Pat and Ski to cover them, he dropped to one knee beside Chip.

“Can you walk?” he asked concerned but detached, while eyeing the wet crimson stain on Chip’s collar, while Pat and Ski brandished their guns in a defensive stance.

“I’m fine,” Chip answered readily. “It’s just a cut.”

“All right, let’s get out of here,” Lee ordered, pulling him to a stand first and ignoring for now, the wince the movement caused the blonde. Together they pulled Fenton to his feet and immediately started for the trail, intending to make their way back to the van before Francesco commandeered the vehicle for their own escape.

“What about him?” Chip asked with a nod toward Travis’ covered body.

“No time, ONI is going to have to clean this up,” Lee declared.

Fenton's protest beneath his still-intact gag was ignored by both men as they escorted their prisoner to the trail, with Ski and Pat back pedaling to cover their retreat.

* * * * *

Seaview’s men kept a watchful eye as they escorted their prisoner along the trail. Ski had taken the lead as point-man and was the first to break into the clearing to secure the vehicle with Pat following behind as rear-guard. They loaded Fenton through the side door and deposited him on the floorboard with less concern for his comfort and more for their safe departure.

“Get us out of here, Ski!” Lee ordered while assessing Chip’s wound before squeezing his shoulder and finding his way to the passenger seat. The bumpy ride did little to aid his aching and tired body, and he was sure it wasn’t doing Chip much good either.

“Okay, slow it down, Ski,” Lee ordered once they passed any reasonable ability for Francesco and Baxter to catch up with them on foot. Once they reached the pull-out’s rocky overhang, Lee dialed in the transmitter, hoping that Seaview was close enough to hear his transmission.

“Crane to Seaview, Come in.”

“Seaview here,” was acknowledged almost immediately. Though it was scratchy and disjointed, he recognized Bobby’s voice on the other side.

“Status, Mr. O’Brien.”

“The pen has been located and disarmed, Sir.”

Lee raised an eyebrow and smiled approvingly, it was exactly the information he was seeking. “Acknowledged. Return to port and ready to receive Admiral Nelson. Inform Jamieson to expect non-life-threatening casualties, and notify ONI of the situation. I'll report once I'm aboard.”

“Aye Sir.”

He leaned his head back and sighed, relieved for their escape but unable to let his guard down until he knew for himself that Harry was safe aboard Seaview. Questions about Francesco’s part in the prisoner's escape would have to wait for the privacy of the sub. He was also sporting a healthy amount of self-recrimination for not having foreseen the near disastrous escape in the first place; that too, would have to wait for the safety of Seaview.

* * * * *

Sharkey maneuvered the mountain road with the expertise of man who had a “rich and colorful childhood”. His passenger, however, was less impressed and currently steaming in the backseat. Admiral Nelson wasn’t accustomed to losing too many arguments in his life, and Sharkey was feeling the cool breath of his dissatisfaction from the back seat. Chief Sharkey was a Navy man through and through, and the Captain’s orders seemed rather explicit. Considering the fact that Admiral Nelson was sporting a bullet wound in the leg, it made perfect sense to the noncommissioned officer to fully comply with the Skipper’s orders. However, being the new man on the job, he may have just sealed his tenure aboard Seaview as a short-term assignment. Ignoring an admiral’s insistences to stop and turn around was a dangerous venture, but ignoring The Admiral Harriman Nelson… boy oh boy, he just hoped the Navy had a place for a washed up Chief of the Boat when the air cleared.

Despite the ramifications of his decision to obey the Skipper and ignore the Admiral, he was sure he had done the right thing. That counted for something in his book. Nelson’s leg had started bleeding again and he was in no shape to traipse around the jungle on foot. Staying on the scene and providing another hostage situation was just plain stupid, so that left the Skipper’s order as the best option for the situation. Nelson must have agreed, because he stopped insisting they turn around and was now holding on for dear life with his leg extended across the back seat, but the ensuing silence from the back seat had been deafening.

“I do believe you can slow down now,” Admiral Nelson delivered calmly, but with a sharp edge in his voice capable of peeling paint off the wall at his command.

Sharkey cleared his throat. “Aye Sir,” he replied just as they reached the main road at the bottom of the mountain road.

“Pull over here and wait for our men.”

Sharkey grimaced, he was about to drive a nail in his own coffin by defying the famous admiral once again. “Uh… negative, Sir. We don’t know who’ll be coming down that mountain road. Knock on wood it’s the Captain, but I just can’t take that chance. Captain Crane said to get you…”

“Blast it, Chief! Are you always this stubborn?”

“Begging the Admiral’s pardon,” he said respectfully, while making eye contact through the rearview mirror and shrugging. “But I guess I am.”

A gruff harrumph from the back seat was his only answer.

The ride back to the docks went relatively fast and with little conversation between the two. He hadn’t been around Nelson long enough to read his moods yet, that would come in time. To be fair, he hadn’t spent too much time around flag officers in general. His job was to bridge the gap between the ratings and the Exec, and he had managed to make a good career of doing just that. But things aboard Seaview were different; for one, Captain Crane was far more “hands-on” than most captains. More than once, he had spotted the Skipper with a wrench in his hand. Furthermore, though it was not out of the ordinary to find admirals aboard surface vessels commanding a fleet, it was unheard of to find them stationed on submarines. Yep, things were different aboard Seaview, he thought before his eyes brightened at the sight up ahead.

“Hey, hey, hey! Would you look at that, Admiral!” he exclaimed as he drove up to the dock, spotting crewman at the dock and Seaview stationed once again a half-mile from port. “You know what that means, Sir?” he practically shouted jubilantly. “The Skipper must have ordered her back!”

The Admiral chuckled. “I suppose you’re right, Chief.”

Sharkey’s jubilance continued as he exited and opened the back door, but disappeared noticeably when the crew arrived to help as he jumped back into his tough-as-nails Chief role.

“Okay men, be careful there,” he directed and going all-business as the men aided Nelson out of the car and toward the end of the dock.

“I’m all right, men,” Harry countered, needing an extra hand but not the fuss. “Chief,” he added over his shoulder before heading to the zodiac waiting for him, “Wait for Captain Crane and the rest of the detail and report to me immediately upon their arrival.”

“Aye, aye Sir,” Sharkey replied, noticing a change in the Admiral’s demeanor and the hint of a satisfied smile leveled his way. Seaview’s newest crewmember smiled and chuckled inwardly, suddenly feeling as if perhaps, his career wasn’t over just yet.

* * * * *

“Man, oh man, are you a sight for sore eyes,” Sharkey proclaimed about twenty minutes later as Kowalski pulled up to the dock.

Captain Crane jumped out and opened the side door, helping Chip out while a Seaview security team helped Patterson with their prisoner.

“Chief,” Crane greeted, “Admiral Nelson?” he queried immediately.

“Already aboard the boat, Sir.”

“Very well, Mr. Morton and I will ride with the prisoner. Take charge and secure the detail.”

“Aye, aye Captain. Sir, the Admiral ordered me to report upon your arrival,” he informed with a nod toward a transmitter, and covering his bases for the unique command structure aboard Seaview.

“Carry on, Chief, and good work out there,” he offered before heading to the zodiac.

Sharkey grinned, raising the transmitter and reporting that the rescue detail was present and accounted for and that Captain Crane was on his way to the boat. He passed on the Admiral’s instructions to be informed at once and then signed off with the satisfaction of a successful mission; the Skipper had been retrieved, Admiral Nelson was safe, and one bad guy was on his way to the brig.

Maybe I’ll keep my job after all, he thought while whimsically rocking from his heels to his toes in satisfied elation, before switching gears and turning his attention to the captain’s order to secure the shore detail.

* * * * *

Lt. O’Brien stood at the bottom of the ladder ready to assist a noticeably shaken Chip Morton who wavered slightly upon stepping to the deck, followed by Captain Crane.

“Welcome back, Skipper; Mr. Morton.”

“Thanks, Bobby. It’s good to be back,” Lee replied with a concerned glance toward his first officer whose head injury was broadcasted by an ample amount of blood on his shirt collar. “Chip, why don’t you head on to Sickbay; I’ll be there as soon as I make a call.”

Lee’s suggestion was met by a scowl from his first officer, but Bobby spoke up before Chip could even add the growl that was quickly forming.

“Uh… Sir, the Admiral has already contacted ONI and expects to see you straight away in Sickbay,” he interjected, obviously repeating his orders verbatim and working hard to hide his cringe at having to deliver such a straight forward message to the Skipper.

Lee responded with a scowl, which morphed into a tired grin. “Leave it to the Admiral to make a report with a bullet hole in his leg,” he mused accompanied by a small chuckle of resignation. “Very well, Mr. O’Brien,” he conceded, swooping his hand toward the aft hatch in an invitation for Chip to precede him.

Bobby blew out a silent breath and exchanged relieved glances with Sparks, which was interrupted by Captain Crane just before he stepped over the hatch.

“And I’ll be expecting a Status Report as soon as Doc is through.”

“Aye, aye Sir,” Bobby replied, as the entire Control Room reveled in the satisfaction of Captain Crane’s return to the boat.

* * * * *

Lee kept a guarded eye on Chip as they walked to Sickbay. Though he hadn’t complained, it was apparent his friend had taken a hard blow. The cut had bled considerably and his shirt collar now sported a dark crimson stain that contrasted against the increasingly white pallor of his face. Now wasn’t the time to query him about what went down and just how Francesco had managed to help a seemingly nobody minion escape, while leaving behind the apparent “leader” of the plot to destroy Nelson.

“Lee…” Chip started sheepishly just before reaching Sickbay.

“We’ll talk about it later, Chip,” he interrupted, “let’s just get you taken care of.”

“It’s just a bump…”

“Can it, Morton. You’re about to keel over as it is,” Lee replied a bit harsher than he intended and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry, Chip, I just thought we had a plan.”

Chip acknowledged Lee’s frustration with a nod. It had been a rough day, but nowhere near as rough as Seaview’s Captain, who had been kidnapped and held prisoner for over two days.

“The main thing is we got the Admiral back and our team came back alive… that’s all I care about right now,” Lee added sincerely as he reached for the door.

* * * * *

Upon entering Sickbay, Chip was immediately greeted by a corpsman as Lee scanned the treatment room for signs of Harry.

“Where’s the Admiral, John?”

“Being prepped for surgery,” Dr. Jamieson replied, emerging from sliding temporary wall that served as an operating room when needed. “And before you ask, it was a straight-through. He was fortunate, missed bones and a major artery. We’re going to get in there, clean it up, and stitch it; shouldn’t take too long.”

Lee blew a relieved breath out and delivered a small closed-mouth smile at the news.

“We might have been done by now if a certain patient hadn’t stopped at the Radio Shack before reporting to Sickbay,” he continued, loud enough for the occupant of the operating room to hear. He turned all business, ignoring the low growl from behind the partition and turning his attention to his corpsman. “John?”

“A nasty cut behind his left ear. I doubt it will need stitches. Pupils are uneven, likely concussion,” he added.

“Very well, clean it up and deposit him in a bunk,” he ordered without as much as a glance toward the Exec, indicating that his incarceration in Sickbay wasn’t negotiable. “After that you can start on the Skipper here.”

“I’m fine, Jamie.”

Seaview’s Chief Medical Officer raised an eyebrow. “I doubt it,” he replied, spotting first Lee’s bright red shiner, followed by noticeable weariness that dulled his usually bright, responsive eyes. “You were subdued by force?” he stated more than asked, making his first point. “Were you drugged?” Lee rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“I don’t know, I lost track of time; the night we were attacked.”

“That would be nearly three days since your last meal, Captain, and right now I suspect your blood sugars are seriously close to dropping you flat on the deck. Find yourself a nice, comfy bunk then John will take some blood samples and hook you up to an IV. The sooner you comply, the sooner I can return to my patient of greatest need,” he added with a tilt of the head toward the operating room.

Jamie knew it was a low blow, but an effective one nonetheless.

“Fine,” Lee capitulated, becoming noticeably wearier with each passing moment. He picked a bunk with a straight shot to the operating room and laid down, barely avoiding a childish, “There!” as Jamie noted his compliance and then disappeared behind the partition.

He threw a tired arm over his eyes, shielding them from the brightness of Sickbay’s lights and drew in a deep breath of resignation. He knew Jamie was right. Though there were still some major questions regarding Francesco that he needed answered, he knew his body was giving out on him and he was in danger of crashing big time.

Across the room he could hear John quietly asking Chip the standard “head injury” questions and listened for a moment, satisfying himself that his best friend was probably only slightly concussed. That at least was one worry he could let go of as he dropped his hand behind his head, feeling his body suddenly becoming heavy. Figuring he had at least an hour before Jamie was through treating Harry, he allowed himself to rest to the nearly imperceptible vibrations of Seaview’s operations. In the year he’d been aboard, he’d become so accustomed to her hums and sensations that he could actually discern what speed she was traveling. The thought brought a slight twitch of a satisfied smile that faded as his body responded to the comforts of the soft bunk.

He drifted off on the serene thought of the sleek grey wonder slicing through the waters, before issuing the order to dive in a peaceful dream. A short time later, he was completely unaware when John moved his arm, rolled up his sleeve, and drew blood. His body had surrendered completely, resulting in barely a twitch at the intrusion of the IV, as the SSRN Seaview lulled her Master and Commander into a deep restorative slumber.

Chapter Thirteen

We Two Revisited

(We Two – Revisited)

Lee woke somewhat surprised that he had slept so hard. He rose up on one elbow, spotting Harry, the only other patient in Sickbay, with his leg elevated on pillows.

“Welcome back, Skipper,” Jamie greeted with a warm smile.

“Thanks, Jamie. Where’s Chip?”

“He’s been released to his cabin with a butterfly bandage and aspirin. He has a concussion and will be standing down for a few days before I release him to light duty,” he replied, placing his stethoscope into his ears and indicating for Lee to lie back down.

“And the Admiral?”

“It went pretty much as I expected. We cleaned the wound and inserted a few stitches. He’ll be off his feet for the duration of the voyage home and he has some physical therapy ahead of him, but I expect a full recovery. Given his concussion and a bum leg, I have a mind to keep him here until we reach port.”

Lee smiled, at the good report and silently wished the Doc well attempting to keep the Admiral in Sickbay. “And what’s my verdict?”

“You have a very hard head, but we’ve already determined that fact, haven’t we?” Jamie replied with a playful grin. “You’ll be happy to know that you somehow escaped a concussion, but your blood work isn’t clean yet,” he cautioned, losing the light mood.

“What do you mean?” Lee asked somewhat concerned.

“I imagine the drug had some sort of sedative effect?”

Lee nodded. “It was pretty effective, didn’t take long to work either.”

“The sedative seems to have mostly metabolized, but there are unidentified trace elements still lingering in your system. Tell me, how did you feel when you woke up?” he asked, stuffing the stethoscope into his white tunic and sitting back as Lee sat up.

“Tired… run-down. I was able to think and function, but I generally felt unwell,” he answered honestly.

“That fits with ONI’s supposition on the drug that was used; they’ve run into it before. It seems it’s a new cocktail developed to not only knock out their victim, but to keep them somewhat subdued. Thankfully, they underestimated the dosage for your high metabolic rate. At any rate, I’m confident that the remaining traces will be fully absorbed in the next day or so. You’re likely to feel a little run-down until then, so I’m recommending light duty with scheduled breaks.”

“Very well,” he replied.

“Now, in case you haven’t noticed, the IV is missing,” Jamie added with another grin.

“I did notice, Jamie. Thank you.”

“I’m willing to release you to your cabin, after you’ve had a good meal,” he added conditionally.

“I tell you what, Jamie, let me head to my cabin and shower away the last few days and I’ll be more than ready for that dinner.”

“Fair enough, Skipper. John will deliver it in say… half an hour.”

“Deal.”

Jamie smiled. It was all part of the negotiations he had come to expect from Seaview’s Captain.

Lee stood, glancing over at the occupied bunk. “How long will the Admiral be out?”

“I hope till morning.”

“I’d like to be informed as soon as he’s ready for company.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper.”

Lee acknowledged with a small nod then headed for the door, ready for both the shower and the promised meal afterwards.

* * * * *

A hot shower and hearty dinner had led to a rather good night’s sleep. It had seemed so long ago that he and Harry had enjoyed a few drinks of camaraderie together at Finnegan’s. Had it only been three days ago? he considered silently.

He’d taken breakfast in his cabin and had visited the Control Room, receiving a Status Report and catching up with Seaview’s activities since his abduction. He hadn’t seen Chip yet and had a lot of questions regarding Baxter’s escape and exactly how Francesco was involved, but he decided to wait until Harry was ready for company for a combined debriefing. His time in the Control Room was well-spent and by the time Jamie called, he was relaxed and in the right frame of mind to delve back into the particulars of the abduction and subsequent rescue. Chip had been informed to meet him in Sickbay at 0830 hours, giving him a few minutes to visit with Harry privately. He was pretty sure he’d have to pay the piper for ordering Sharkey to whisk the Admiral away and was fully prepared to stand by that decision; but mostly, he needed to know that Harry was good with all that had gone down.

It hadn’t been easy for him to play the traitor three months ago and regretted that his orders had kept Lee in the dark. Harry was a private man, but he had shared that much with him. The rest he had discerned as a close friend; when the traitor is really a patriot, he battles both the enemy and his conscience. It’s a fine line requiring a lot of sacrifice to bring about the mission objective. He had nothing but respect for Harry’s decision to put his country first, even over his reputation. Unfortunately, General Hamid had died believing that Admiral Nelson was a traitor. The “evidence” that Lee had heard through the listening device was damning, but even with Hamid’s body lying on the deck in the admiral’s cabin, he believed Harry enough to hear him out. It wasn’t blind faith, but it was faith. Faith in the man who had stood by him when he’d been compromised… brainwashed to destroy his own boat and murder his best friend. Harry had stuck by him; had believed in him. Such was the bonds of their friendship; as strong as the brotherly bonds he and Chip had forged over many years… strong enough to hear the admiral out and stand by his side to complete the secret mission.

Lee stopped at the Sickbay door and breathed in deeply. He hadn’t intended to take that mental walk down memory lane and made a concerted effort to lighten the mood. The answers to questions would come shortly; right now, he was visiting a good friend in Sickbay.

He opened the door, genuinely smiling at the sight of Harriman Nelson reclining in a bunk with pillows propped behind his back. Remnants of his breakfast lay on a rollaway tray, currently pushed aside, and he was free of the IV. He was currently reading from a folder across his lap, and looked as dignified as ever, even in a robe with his leg elevated.

“Good morning, Admiral,” Lee greeted, openly pleased with the apparent improvement since his wound had been treated.

“Lee,” Harry greeted, obviously pleased to see him as well.

The two had had little time to talk, even after Baxter and Fenton had been subdued and this was the first time they could speak freely.

“You’re looking well,” Lee said as he pulled a chair closer to the bunk.

“I’m feeling much better. How about you?” he replied, eying the red shiner that was only slightly fading.

“I’m fine, Sir. My rack felt great last night, and I slept hard.”

“Jamie tells me you’re still working through some after-effects of the drug they used.”

“I’m fine, Admiral. Even though I’m not exactly up to par, I actually feel pretty good,” Lee replied, but noticing a change in Harry’s mood as he hung his head, as if searching for his next words.

The admiral sighed regretfully and then continued. “Lee, I’m sorry that Fenton got you involved in all this. When I agreed to the mission three months ago, I only expected the responsibility and subsequent consequences to fall upon me. We make a good team, and I don’t want anything to change in that regard; but the truth is you were targeted because of me.”

It had been a candid and highly personal admission for the Admiral to make, though it meant a lot to Lee, he couldn’t let it rest there.

“Admiral, none of what happened was your fault. The man who is responsible is sitting in our brig right now. And as far as our working relationship goes, things have changed. Seaview has been on the front lines of everything from natural disasters, to defending democracy, to science experiments gone wrong, to alien invasion!” he ticked off with flair, situations others would have considered absurd possibilities, but had actually happened. “We’ve been through a lot together, and I can’t begin to understand half of it. But what I do know is the more we go through, the more we trust and know that we can depend on one another. In my book that’s a good thing, and it’s what makes the unique command structure of Seaview work.”

Harry nodded and twitched a half-smile at the fervor at which Lee had delivered his last statement. True; their discussion had been limited to their professional relationship, but each one knew that their friendship was an integral part of a deep trust that had been forged over the last year. “Well said, Lee,” he replied inwardly touched, but ready to move on nonetheless. Fortunately, Chip walked into Sickbay at that moment, providing the perfect segue from their personal discussion to something more official.

“It’s good to see you, Chip,” Lee greeted, helping to turn the corner from their conversation as Chip snagged another chair beside the door. He was in uniform, sans the tie, a good indication that he hadn't been cleared back to duty yet.

“Thanks Lee. It’s good to see you both looking so well.”

“Thank you, Chip,” Harry replied, moving his folder from his lap to the side and turning his attention to Lee in particular. “Now, I’m guessing you have a few questions,” he stated more than asked.

“Frankly, Admiral, I’m in the dark as to most of what happened. I know about Fenton, but I’m not up to speed on Francesco and how he even became involved. And, yes, I do have questions about Baxter’s escape,” he said with a glance toward Chip.

“I have as well,” Harry admitted, and if Chip was seemingly in the hot spot, he didn’t let it show at all. “This whole affair started with a kidnapping attempt by General Fenton’s brother and son, in an act of vengeance. What you don’t know, Lee, is that Randall Fenton intended to abduct both of us that night. It turns out his plan was thwarted by an old acquaintance of mine. Someone I hadn’t seen in years.” He paused a moment then continued. “Victor Francesco was a member of an ONI Team I led on a dangerous mission, years ago. The mission resulted in a team member’s death and left Victor scarred with a long recovery ahead of him. I had been led to believe all these years that he blamed me for the mission’s outcome. He even filed charges against me, of which I was completely exonerated. Ironically, it was this story that I only partly shared with you at Finnegan’s,” he shared. “After your abduction, Chip led a team to look for clues. He uncovered a person of interest, a man in his fifties with a scar on his right hand. I thought it was too much of a coincidence, but contacted ONI. They told me he had committed suicide, and we were back to square one. That is, until Victor Francesco found Chip. He explained that he was a double agent and that the charges against me were part of his initial cover to appear disgruntled and ready to work for the other side. This was confirmed, by the way, upon my return to the boat yesterday after Gerald Johnson and I exchanged some choice words.” Lee and Chip exchanged glances, both imagining the fireworks that phone call had produced. “And then we got the ransom note…”

“And the pen bomb,” Lee interjected.

“Yes, but of course we didn't know that at the time. I was to meet them in town; it was only then that I discovered just who the kidnapper was and his relation to General Fenton. Chip, Francesco, and the rescue detail followed and did some mighty fine tracking, since my tracer was discovered immediately.”

“That was Francesco’s doing,” Chip added. “I didn’t know whether to trust him, but he seemed to be awfully good at what he did. At that point, it was our only hope of getting to you in time.”

Harry nodded then continued. “On the way to the camp, Fenton stopped to gloat and to carry out his plan to destroy Seaview. It was quite the surprise for him to see nothing but sea from that vantage point,” he added with a satisfied grin that faded into mock sternness. “Would you mind telling us just how that came about, Captain Crane?”

Lee smiled like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar and he knew Harry was particularly interested in his answer.

“Fortunately, Fenton liked to gloat and had made a point to brag about his plans to blow up Seaview and what his plans were against you,” he explained, purposely glossing over the fact that Fenton intended on torturing him to that end. “I managed to escape by setting fire to the cell and waiting for the guard to pull me out.” Both Harry and Chip grimaced at the thought of the possible outcomes should the guard not react as Lee had hoped. Lee noticed but continued his story, “I overpowered Travis and found the transmitter, but the reception wasn’t strong enough to contact Seaview. So, I hiked back to the cliff along the road and warned the boat, but it was too late to warn you,” he added. “My only option was to return to the camp, where I intended on mounting some sort of surprise attack when Fenton returned. Unfortunately, he returned before I could put anything into effect and since O’Brien had informed me that a rescue detail was trailing you with a tracking device, I calculated that I had options.”

“So, we both ended up his prisoners,” Harry added, clearly not happy with Lee’s choice on that matter.

“I didn’t know the tracking unit had been neutralized and figured all we needed was to buy time. I knew it was a long shot and that any number of things could go wrong, but I couldn’t take the chance that Fenton wouldn’t kill you outright,” Lee replied, defending his reasoning.

“So, he surrendered his gun,” he informed Chip, letting him in on the source of his displeasure; the fact that Lee had let down his defenses to save him.

“I guess that brings us to the rescue,” Lee continued, ignoring Harry’s slight annoyance and moving the story along, indicating that it was Chip’s turn to enlighten them.

“Francesco had secured a vehicle for us out of nowhere and we followed the transmitter. Once we found the discarded unit, he was the first one to pick up the trail. I think we would have found it as well, but he was obviously skilled, so I let him take the lead. We barely got there in time to stop that madman from cutting you to pieces,” he added, making eye contact with Lee. “Francesco took the first shot, and we gave the kid every chance to just step away; but when he lunged again…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Chip; he was poisoned by his uncle. I saw it in his eyes; he questioned himself, but when it came down to doing the deed, he made his decision and he was committed to it. He would have carried it out had you not been there.”

Chip lowered his head and nodded slightly. He had not been called upon to take a life many times in his career, and though he knew it had been the right course of action, it still affected him.

“All of this would have come out in our After Action Reports, but what I’m most interested in right now, is Baxter’s escape and how it went down,” Lee added, his eyes narrowing as they got down to the heart of his concern.

Chip’s expression never wavered; it had been a gut decision made in the necessity of the moment, and there was no time to “run it by” his superiors. A man’s life depended solely upon how believable the “escape” was.

“I’ve been around ONI long enough to know that plans change, but I need to know just how you came about that nasty knock on the head, and why you exchanged gunfire,” Lee continued, the seriousness of the matter hitting him on several levels; the danger he had put Chip in by leaving him alone with Francesco to guard the prisoners; the fact that Chip's injury was indicative of force far more aggressive than what he thought necessary; and not the least of his concerns, determining just what side the ONI double agent was really on.

Harry was just as curious and had his own questions. Immediately, his mind returned to the conversation he and Victor Francesco had in the jungle camp, just prior to their departure.

* * * * *

“We’re about ready to head out, Admiral,” Lee informed Nelson, who had won at least a partial battle, having petitioned and won the right to move into a more comfortable, and in his eyes, dignified position. He was now leaning against a rock, his leg immobilized but still able to participate like an admiral instead of a patient.

“Fine,” Harry replied, barely keeping in check the throbbing bullet wound and headache that were rivaling for top honors on the pain index. Despite his own discomfort he was also concerned with Lee’s condition. Though Seaview’s Captain had escaped a bullet wound, he was sure Lee hadn’t gone unscathed in all this. He was more anxious to get Lee into Jamie’s hands than to secure medical treatment for himself.

Lee turned, taking one last look over the camp as Francesco approached him.

“Can I have a few minutes with him?”

“Just a few, we need to head out,” Lee agreed and stepped aside to give the two men privacy for a conversation he was sure they both needed.

* * * * *

Vic approached the admiral cautiously. He had told Crane that there was a lot of water under the bridge between the two, most of it caused at his hand. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but it had been necessary.

“I didn’t have time in your office to apologize for what I’ve put you through for the sake of my cover,” he said, plunging ahead with something he’d wished he could have said years ago.

“You apologized in my office,” Harry said with noticeable lack of graciousness.

“Not the way I wanted to.”

“Sit down, Francesco, you’re towering over me,” he said harshly, adding a small wink to soften the blow.

Vic took a knee beside him, confused as to just what was transpiring; Harry was obviously keeping up a stern appearance, but his demeanor was telling him something else was going on.

With Victor now close enough to speak privately, Harry leaned closer. “I can’t say that I wasn’t angry, but I’m more pleased that you didn’t waste your life, Victor. That everything you did was for a purpose; for a greater good,” he delivered sincerely. “What I want to know now, is if you’re ready to come in from the cold?’” he asked cryptically, referring to whether his decision to become involved signaled he was ready to leave the double life he was living and return to the United States.

Vic looked away almost wistfully and sighed. “No one comes in from the cold once you've been out as long as I have, Harry. You know that. I've seen too much... done too much. And the truth is I'm too good at what I do to walk away. Besides, it will just mean that ONI will have to send someone else in to get the job done. I can't live with that... I'm in to stay,” he answered resolutely.

“I understand, Victor, more than you know. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to go out on a limb for me.” Vic leaned closer. “Captain Crane and I have been doing our best to protect my cover from a mission three months ago. Fenton believes that I sold out the underwater missile array to the enemy, and it's imperative that the powers that be continue to believe that I've done just that. As long as they do, they'll continue to rely on the data I surrendered.”

“I didn't know what his beef was, but I know who General Fenton was. What do you need me to do?”

“Baxter is more than hired muscle. He was in the car with the agent who allowed herself to be taken hostage for the mission I was involved in. I'm pretty sure he's here to keep an eye on the General's brother. Lee and I have been keeping up the ruse during this whole circus of events by validating the cover. The bottom line is we need someone to escape and take the information of what happened here back to their leader. We need you to bust out Baxter, but not Fenton; he's heading to the brig if I have anything to say about it,” Harry added with fervor at the thought of what he had in mind for Lee and the crew.

“I can do that, and I can make it a good thing for ONI as well. It will get me in the door for someplace they've wanted to be for a long time.”

Harry was conflicted with whether to be relieved that the mission was still safe; or to be greatly saddened by the years of sacrifice his old friend had made for his country. “I only played a traitor for a week, Victor, and it was excruciating. I don't know what to say...”

“Don't say anything, Harry, but thanks.”

“For what?”

“You're the first person to know the truth about me beyond a select few at ONI. It's a burden off my shoulders for you to know.”

“Then let's make this look good,” Harry replied, determined to keep both of their missions secure. “We're leaving Morton here with you. All you have to do is overpower him; he'll be ready for your move and I want my First Officer back in once piece,” he admonished.

“I can handle that,” he simply stated and stood.

“One more thing, Victor.”

Vic paused and waited for Harry's question.

“What's up with the cowboy boots?” he asked humorously with a raised eyebrow and a small nod toward his feet.

Vic cracked the smallest of smiles. “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” he deadpanned as Harry scowled at the lack of enlightenment his answer had provided. “I always thought it was hard to tell who was the good guy and who was the bad guy in that movie... until the end that is,” he said with a small smile at the stealth way he privately reminded himself of who he really was inside.

Harry nodded back, his smile carefully hidden between his pursed lips, but clearly seen in the twinkle of his eyes. A quick glance at Baxter and Fenton revealed that they were fully engaged in the pre-arranged conversation Lee and Chip were having in such close proximity, while conveniently giving Baxter the information he needed to be ready when Francesco suddenly showed up as his rescuer.

Francesco looked down at his boots and then back at Harry, ready to play the traitor once again.

* * * * *

This was the plan that Lee had agreed upon out of necessity in the jungle, and though Harry had left the particulars up to Francesco, neither one had expected a gun battle. Both of their eyes fell upon Chip Morton to fill in the missing part of the story.

* * * * *

Chip leaned forward. He knew that he was in the hot seat now, and he wasn't sure whether either one of his bosses were going to appreciate the executive decision he had made. Nevertheless, he was ready to stand by his decisions.

“Francesco needed the breakout to be 100% believable. He was running the risk of losing his cover and subsequently his life, and I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have been a quick or easy out,” he added pointedly, before continuing. “Overpowering me had to look real enough for Baxter to report back to his superiors. He also thought it would sell better if he went back wounded, and with Fenton spewing out way too much information about the missiles, he was running the real risk of becoming a liability. Francesco needed me to provide enough motivation to keep Baxter from cleaning up loose ends before the escape.” Chip took a deep breath and then continued. “I'd seen his marksmanship up close, when he took out the Fenton kid only inches from you, Lee. So, I was confident he could place a bullet exactly where he wanted. I fired first, winging him, and he shot at the dirt around us. With both of them wounded, Baxter had no choice but to high-tail it out of there before silencing any possible witnesses.”

Lee sat back and blew out breath. Chip's last statement driving home the fact that silencing the witnesses would have likely including his best friend as well. “It was a good plan. I just wished I had some clue beforehand. Just when did you and Francesco hash this out anyway?” he asked, still holding on to the fact that he'd been left out on the details beforehand.

“You're not the only one who can be sneaky when he wants to be,” the blond quipped, and making his point that Lee wasn’t without offense in this particular area.

Harry chuckled from the bunk as Lee sat back, willing to accept that he would have done the same had he been in Chip’s position. He also knew that the last thing they needed was for Baxter to see them huddling together to change the game plan. On that realization he chuckled, accepting Chip's pointed humor for what it was and allowed himself to finally relax.

The light reprieve naturally gravitated back to the serious tones of earlier as the three men's thoughts returned to Victor Francesco.

“How is Francesco planning on explaining his part in all this?” Lee asked genuinely concerned and knowing just how fragile an agent's cover could be.

“He didn't tell me. He only said he could use it to infiltrate a place that ONI had wanted to be for a long time,” the Admiral replied matter-of-factly, though Lee and Chip both knew he was far from indifferent on the matter.

“So, Baxter was the key to answering a lot of questions,” Lee stated, attempting to move the debriefing along. “The fact that you recognized him as the driver in the car with your sister's double connected him to General Fenton's organization.”

“But he wasn't just hired help,” Chip interjected. “When Randall Fenton was shooting off his mouth, Baxter was clearly the intimidating party with some sort of clout over him.”

“I'd speculate that General Fenton's organization was more than willing to allow his brother to have his vengeance, but they didn't trust him completely,” Harry postulated.

“And sent Baxter as an insurance policy,” Lee added. “That answers just how Fenton got access to a remote detonator and the latest drug in the underworld for his revenge plot.”

“Which is why we had to keep up my ‘Traitor’ cover story,” the Admiral continued.

“And when Baxter returns, he'll be able to report that the story is still valid,” Lee inserted.

“It's ironic when you think about it. General Fenton's own brother may end up being responsible for securing my cover and ensuring their belief that they actually have the missile locations,” Harry said thoughtfully, before changing the subject and moving on. “Well, I think we've just about covered everything, gentlemen. Admiral Johnson is expecting an AAR from each one of us.”

Lee and Chip both took their cues and stood.

“I’ll be by later, Sir.”

“Fine, Lee. Bring me some work from my In-Box. I might as well be useful while I’m stuck here,” he added, sulking slightly at his forced bed rest.

“Aye, aye, Sir,” Lee replied. “Come on, Mr. Morton, I’ll escort you back to your cabin before I head to the Control Room.”

“Wait a minute,” Chip said, stopping in his tracks. “I’m not the one who was kidnapped and drugged. Why aren’t I cleared for duty like you?” he complained.

“No concussion,” Lee answered, waggling his eyebrows in a cheap victory as he guided Chip out the door to Harry’s quiet chuckles from the bunk.

* * * * *

Harry’s chuckles quieted as the sickbay door closed, but soon succumbed to heavier emotions. Feeling suddenly weary, he sat back in a solemn mood against his pillows and closed his eyes; his thoughts returning to Victor Francesco. Only three days ago, he had still believed that Victor had spent the last twenty years blaming him for the mission that had cost a comrade's life and resulting in a life-changing injury. The spectrum of emotions he had experienced these last three days had been draining. Waking up in Sickbay to discover that Lee had been abducted was bad enough; discovering that Fenton had targeted his best friend because of him was excruciating. Add to that the initial uncertainty of Victor's motives when he came waltzing into his office after twenty years, and he had been on quite an emotional roller coaster.

Only now in the aftermath of a successful outcome, could he afford to take the time to examine just what it all meant to him personally. Though he and Lee had had a good conversation this morning, he wasn't pleased that Randall Fenton had recognized how important Lee's friendship had become to him. Deciding what to do with that realization was for another time, when his head wasn't still throbbing hours before Jamie's next scheduled pain pills. What he couldn’t get off his mind was Victor’s sacrifice.

As an admiral, he was a man who understood sacrifice. Heaven knows he’d done enough of it in his own career, but he was humbled to have learned that Victor had spent the last twenty years working in the darkest place of the espionage world. More than that, he had somehow not lost himself in the endeavor.

He thought about all the years he had made his way to Finnegan’s to toast every single man he had lost under his command, and how he had counted a disgruntled Victor Francesco as one of those casualties. Even though he had come to raise his glass in honor of their sacrifice and to celebrate their brave lives, he knew that he would always carry sorrow at their loss. Today, however, he realized that there was one less casualty to mourn. The realization was powerful, bringing a satisfied smile to his face as he drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Epilogue

We Two, Revisited

Another year had passed, and once again Harry had found himself taking a familiar route along an old boardwalk, to an old Irish Pub on a South Pacific Island. Joining him at the oak bar, rich with the patina of many years of drinks being served to many patrons, were the two Naval officers whose skill and leadership abilities had helped him to make Seaview the positive force he always dreamed she should be.

After a few amiable drinks and a few rousing stories of Harry’s adventurous youth, the wise and discerning pub owner deposited a fresh beer mug in front of each of the officers and joined them in the traditional toast that had come to mean so much to Harry.

“What shall we drink to this year, Harry, me boy?” Mac bellowed, asking the same question he asked every year.

Harry smiled knowingly and nodded, deferring to this time-honored tradition that had developed over the last twenty years, to which Mac responded by raising his mug.

“May the winds of fortune sail you. May you sail a gentle sea,” Mac recited with all the respect the moment deserved then paused. After an appropriate moment of reflection, the colorful Irish barkeeper added the comedic relief with the last part of the toast, “And may it always be the other guy, who says this drink’s on me!”

“Slainte!”* they all proclaimed before drinking down the contents and depositing the empty mug down on the bar in a harmoniously hearty thud.

“And now, my friend,” Mac said, his demeanor much more serious, “I sense that there’s something different this year. Do you have anything to add, me Lad?”

Harry smiled at the perceptive man. “Set us up again, Mac and this time with your Blarney Special,” he declared.

“Blarney Special?” Chip asked with a raised brow and figuring by the wicked gleam in Mac’s eyes that something was definitely up.

Lee laughed. “I have a feeling he had this planned all along, with giving the crew three days in port,” he postulated. “I hear you need a whole day to recover from Mac’s house specialty.”

Chip blew out a playful blow of breath and smiled. “Remind me to change the duty roster to schedule Bobby on Alpha watch,” he joked, sensing he would need a few extra hours in bed and thoroughly enjoying the camaraderie among his closest friends.

Harry’s one-sided, closed-mouth grin indicated that Morton had it spot on and chuckled.

“Here she be!” Mac declared, setting a shot glass in front of each officer.

“Is it green?” Chip asked, lifting the shot glass and examining the unknown contents with a scrutinizing eye.

“Are we going to need an escort back to the Boat after this, Sir?” Lee asked, partly joking, but also serious.

“Only if you can’t handle your liquor, Captain Crane,” Harry answered spiritedly.

“Aren’t you joining us, Mac?” Lee asked curiously.

“Oh no, not me Lad! Someone has to stay sober to call you a cab,” he declared with a loud jovial voice.

Their resulting chuckles died down as Harry raised his glass almost reverently.

“Gentlemen,” he said in a solemn toast. “To the men who’ve gone before us… and to those who continue to serve sacrificially for Liberty’s cause.”

“Hear, hear,” Lee and Chip acknowledged solemnly.

Harry looked over his glass to the mirror behind the bar, focusing toward the corner where a lone man in a sailor’s pea coat reached a scarred hand for his drink. The smallest of smiles twitched on his lips as Harry downed his drink in the toast.

“Whew!” Lee exclaimed, leaning both hands flat against the bar and waiting for the expected punch of the strong concoction to hit in earnest.

Chip was leaning against one elbow trying to look less effected, but he wasn’t fooling Harry whose chuckles were joined by the younger officers, who were far from drunk but definitely feeling the buzz.

Meanwhile, the sound of cowboy boots walking across the wooden planked floor behind them was missed by everyone except the Admiral. From his peripheral vision, Harry could see him reach for the door, rest his hand on the knob and then pause a moment before opening the door as Victor Francesco stepped back into the cold, dark, and lonely world of a double agent… but this time, with the comforting knowledge that someone knew that the traitor was really a patriot.

The End

Operation Traitor/Patriot

* * * * *

Notes:

*pronounced “slawn-CHA” meaning “Health” the Irish equivalence to “Cheers!”

Episode Credit: Season 1, Episode 32, “The Traitor”; Written by William Welch, Al Gail; directed by Sobey Martin; original airdate, April 19, 1965.

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Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea and her main characters belong to Irwin Allen

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