A Fifth Season Story... This is a post series story and is a continuation of my Legacy Series. Lee is in his early sixties and according to my universe established in previous stories, he is an admiral still actively captaining the Seaview and by now running the Institute as Harry is semi-retired. Admiral Nelson still takes voyages as he sees fit dividing his time between Seaview and her sister boat, captained by Chip Morton; he is still a prolific inventor and scientist and is as sharp as ever. Lee is married to his forever love, Brianna and they have children.

Passing the Torch

by Lynn

Lee Crane carried the briefcase securely in his hand; his grip though tight, was also reinforced with a security cuff attached from his wrist and tethered to the brown leather backed briefcase in his possession. He hadn't been happy with the assignment from the get-go. His partner was young... too young; or maybe he was too old to be playing these spy games any longer. Indeed, ONI had long since rethought the prudence of sending admirals into the field, even retired ones. He took much fewer missions these days and usually only because they needed a particular skill set he possessed, often times an age specific assignment that couldn't be faked with a make-up job. He was still fit in his early sixties and continued to surprise the young trainers in physical fitness reviews, but jumping over razor sharp wired fences and out-running bad guys through twenty miles of wooded forest wasn't exactly his cup of tea anymore. He often wondered how Harry had continued so long, though Lee finally convinced both him and ONI that Admiral Nelson was far too valuable to be sending out into the dangers of the espionage world any longer. Heaven knows Harry had given enough of his blood to defend his country, it was time that the younger operatives took up the slack; it had made a good argument some fifteen years ago when Lee voiced his opinion to ONI. Even so, Lee wasn't quite ready to “pass the torch” himself, and despite the fact that he was also an admiral, ONI still couldn't resist calling him up from time to time.

It was ironic that he was lamenting the youth of his latest partner since Lee himself was no older when he first started. The Rookie, cover name Rico Santoro, was doing all the leg-work and had proven his skill in the field over the last year. For his part, Lee was playing an attorney for a wealthy American businessman on a working vacation aboard his yacht and stopping off at this island just east of Barcelona, Spain to conduct a little business along the way. Rico had been inserted several weeks ago and was conducting reconnaissance of a person of interest when he came upon something important, something he needed to get out without breaking his cover for future use. His dark wavy hair and complexion made him an easy fit, the fact that he spoke European Spanish was a definite plus. He was privy to the young operative's service record and the fact that he had completed three missions successfully in his Rookie year confirmed what he already suspected; the kid was a natural. It should have made him feel better, but it didn't.

Lee tucked his concern deep down; it was time to get the job done. He was here to support the young Lieutenant, and he couldn't... he wouldn't let the young man down.

“Senor Davis, it is good to see you,” greeted the well-dressed man in an all-white business suit, complete with a perfectly white tie; the striking white ensemble broken only by the red carnation he wore on his lapel.

“Thank you Mr. Armando, Mr. Reed extends his deepest apologies for not being able to meet with you in person, but as he explained, a rather urgent matter arose that required his immediate attention.”

“These things happen,” he conceded. “Ah but you are cautious, are you not?” Antonio said, noting the briefcase attached with a security cuff.

“Merely a precaution for our important matters,” Lee returned, dressed in a light grey designer jacket over a white open collared dress shirt; both professional and appropriate for the heat of the day on this pristine Spanish island in the Sea of Sardinia. “As Mr. Reed's attorney and proxy in the matter, I have full authorization to conduct the business transaction,” Lee continued.

“You're not conducting the transaction with the Power of Attorney?” Armando asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, Mr. Reed has signed the papers with a notary present, they need only your signature for which I will witness, hence the briefcase and its security measures,” Lee answered, explaining why the case was cuffed to his wrist.

“Then he has accepted my offer with no further bargaining?”

“It's exactly what you agreed upon in your tele-conference,” Lee replied.

“Very well Mr. Davis, let us proceed,” Antonio Armando said with a swing of the hand toward the table in the estate atrium.

Lush green plants, both native to the island and some expensively imported, provided for a beautiful background for the business deal, a completely above-the-board business venture that happened to be in the works before ONI's need for the current cover of their operative. Mr. Chance Reed, a very wealthy American businessman with strong military ties via his companies producing military parts, was asked to step out of the business meeting and allow Lee to represent him. While the business deal was legitimate, the real reason for the cover necessitated the subterfuge.

As it turned out, Antonio Armando was a law-abiding businessman; his son Franco however, was a different story. The young man over-indulged and privileged all his life had made significant connections with members of the Black Market, seeking to capitalize on his father's blind trust in a son who was selling out his own country's secrets through his father's businesses with military ties. It was Franco that ONI's young agent Rico Santoro had infiltrated as a friend with like interests: women, late-night clubs, booze, and spending his father's money. Franco was a means to an end, as ONI was more interested in his connections since they concerned US interests as well as their allies.

Lee set his briefcase on the table and dialed in the combination to open both the case and the cuff. With his hand free he proceeded to pull out the necessary documents to close the deal as Armando took a seat and perused the documents.

“My attorney will arrive shortly,” Antonio advised as he scanned the documents. “But these look in good order. I hope you don't mind a short wait.”

“Not at all,” Lee replied, just as their conversation was interrupted by a distant call.

“Pop!” a young man called from inside the large estate. His call was followed by the sounds of the butler trying to dissuade the young man from intruding.

“Senor Armando cannot be disturbed...”

“Pop!”

The dissuading was obviously in vain as the sounds of the young man's calls advanced until he entered the atrium. The young Spaniard was tall, dark headed and wearing a designer shirt tucked into tight blue jeans. He was accompanied by a friend wearing like clothing; his dark hair was offset by green eyes and a smug smile. Both young men bore the tell-tale signs of a scuffle, no doubt a brawl they had participated in the night before in their carousing around town.

“Franco,” Antonio greeted with a forgiving smile. “I am unavailable at the moment,” he said before noting the red scuff marks on his son's face. “Mi hijo, what is this?” he said moving from the table to examine the scrape on his son's face, as his young friend made himself scarce for the father and son to confer.

“It's nothing Pop,” Franco answered with a shrug. “Just a run-in with a few bad boys at the club last night, but we showed them, didn't we compadre?”

Franco's “buddy” smiled his answer, trying to wipe a smirk off his face as they both obviously regarded their “battle scars” as trophies of their victory.

“Son, you must be more careful...” Armando cautioned.

“I'm okay Pop,” he interrupted with a boyish grin that his father couldn't resist. Armando ruffled his son's hair and held him by the nape of the neck affectionately as he turned toward Lee.

“Boys will be boys,” he replied with a shrug, obviously proud of his very good looking son and giving him a complete pass for what was probably a brawl invoked by his son's own rudeness.

Lee cracked a polite smile for his host, continuing to watch the dynamics of the father and son from across the atrium, all the while keeping track of Franco's compadre who had wandered over to examine the flora about five feet from his own position. He walked with an air of trouble hidden behind false manners and his own good looks; A real Eddie Haskell, Lee noted, referring to the obnoxious friend of Wally Cleaver on the classic television program “Leave it to Beaver” still playing in reruns on cable TV.

“I must speak with you, Padre,” Franco said, turning suddenly very respectful, while lowering his voice and turning slightly away from Lee. “It's the bank, Padre; they say I must have your approval to withdraw above my allowance...”

While Armando and Franco discussed money matters, the dark headed Eddie Haskell reached over and picked up several pebbles from an atrium planter. He tossed one nonchalantly in the air and then lobbed it intentionally into Lee's briefcase with an “I dare you to say something” smirk, knowing the visiting businessman wouldn't do anything to disturb his host. Lee noted the pebble in his briefcase and glared back. The young man wasn't satisfied with a minor annoyance however, as he tossed a second pebble, garnering another glare. He followed it with another toss which Lee caught deftly, making eye contact with the young delinquent, but silently placing it into his briefcase under a folder so as not to disturb the ensuing business meeting. The young man tossed his head in silent laughter and walked away just as the father/son conversation came to a close.

“Now on your way mi hijo,” Armando charged with another ruffle of his son's hair, which Franco barely resisted shrugging off now that he had gotten another five grand to spend lavishly.

“Alright Pop, see you later,” he said instead. “Come on, Rico,” Franco called to his compadre.

“Nice to see you again, Senor Armando,” Rico replied in a voice pleasing to the older man, but reeking of Eddie Haskell all the way as far as Lee was concerned. Lee's sideways glare at Rico barely faded in time to produce a pleasant smile for Antonio Armando.

The two young men left, passing by Armando's attorney as he was escorted in by the butler.

“Ah Tomas you are here, now we can begin,” Antonio announced as the three men gathered around the documents to complete the transaction.

* * * * *

“Thank you Mr. Armando,” Lee said, closing the briefcase and applying the cuff back to his wrist. He rolled the dial of the combination lock, securing the contents safely inside.

“Please extend my well wishes to Mr. Reed,” Antonio said shaking Lee's hand.

“I most certainly will,” Lee promised before nodding to Tomas and following the butler out to the foyer.

“I shall call the car for you,” the butler announced.

“Thank you, I'll wait outside,” Lee replied as the butler nodded graciously, never one to argue or disagree with a guest of Senor Armando.

The door closed behind him as Lee held the briefcase tightly, a rustle to his right alerted him he wasn't alone, but he kept his face forward as he watched for the car.

“Will you be leaving with me?” Lee asked quietly, without turning toward the sound.

“No... I'm on to something I can't walk away from just yet,” Rico answered from behind a large bush.

Lee's eyebrows tightened, but he managed to lose the tenseness and recapture his expressionless face.

“Understood,” he replied. “The yacht will be in these waters for the next two days.”

“Thanks, I'll be in touch,” Rico reported. His exit was silent, without the slightest rustle of a single leaf as Lee spotted the car making its way around the circular driveway. He had the small flash drive locked securely in the briefcase, passed expertly by the young operative when he was harassingly tossing “pebbles” in his open case in the atrium. Whatever was on the flash drive, it was big enough to warrant a retrieval even before the operative's extraction.

Lee stepped inside the limo and sat with a hand laid protectively over the briefcase, careful to keep all concern for ONI's young rookie operative tucked deep inside. Within a half hour Lee was walking the gangplank to the Wandering Lady, Mr. Reed's private yacht. It launched shortly afterwards and anchored offshore for the evening. Under the cover of night, Lee passed the flash drive to a frogman who safely escorted the important intelligence to the waiting US submarine. The intelligence had been secured, now all they needed was the safe extraction of the Rookie.

* * * * *

Lee sighed as he leaned over the rail, gazing out at the lights of the port before him. Just one more night, and the yacht would have to leave these waters and be on her way to keep Mr. Reed and his attorney above suspicion. Rico hadn't made contact with ONI yet as Lee was forced to wait it out; the Wandering Lady wasn't the Rookie's last extraction option, but he'd feel a whole lot better knowing Rico was safe aboard.

Lee's part of the mission was complete, but all this waiting was driving him crazy.

What was that he argued so long ago? It was time to let the younger operatives pick up the slack?

What he wouldn't give to be on shore right now playing backup; driving the getaway car; jumping over a razor sharp fence; even running through twenty miles of wooded forest... anything but waiting it out on the yacht, he mused silently.

It wasn't like he'd never worked with a Rookie before, and it wasn't like the young operative couldn't handle himself. He was good, and even though this was only his fourth mission, he was handling it with all the poise of a seasoned op. No the problem wasn't that the operative was a young rookie... the problem was that the rookie was his own son, Christopher William-Harriman Crane.

Lee sighed; he could still remember the conversation when he found out that ONI recruited him.

“I can do this, Dad,” Christopher assured, as the two sat on the beach alone, the breeze blowing their curly black hair across their foreheads, though Lee wore his hair a little longer these days, especially compared to his son's military cut.

“It's not that, Christopher,” Lee replied, staring out to sea and acknowledging the competency of his son's skills.

“Then what?”

Lee was silent a moment, trying to articulate his thoughts. When he did speak it was hushed and mysterious.

“You don't know what it's like Christopher; the intrigue, the danger, watching people die... taking a life...” his voice trailed off, sharing a very private part of his military career that he rarely shared with anyone.

“I know what it was like waiting for you to come home,” Christopher replied, staring out at sea as well. “You never told me... Mom never told me... but I knew, Dad.”

“I never wanted you to bear that burden, Son. It was bad enough that your Mom had to,” he added.

“But you kept taking the missions,” Christopher noted.

“You know why, don't you?” Lee asked, abandoning his gaze toward the sea and meeting his son's eyes. “It's true I did it for my country, but I was driven by the need to make a safe place for my family, so my children could grow and flourish. Christopher, I did it so that you would never have to,” he answered passionately.

“But the job's not done, Dad.”

Lee nodded in resignation, “I know.”

“You've done your part, God in Heaven knows that you've done more than your part,” Christopher replied with his voice breaking slightly, referring to the bullet wounds, broken bones and bruises from obvious beatings he had come home with on more than one occasion.

“And now it's time for me to step up and do my part, Dad...” he continued as Lee interjected.

“Christopher...”

“No listen, Dad,” he interrupted respectfully. “Someday I'm going to have children, and I want the same things for them that you wanted for us.”

They sat in silence a moment before Christopher spoke again.

“You gave me so much Dad, you taught me everything you knew and you passed it on for a reason,” he submitted gently. “You passed on Grandpa Crane's legacy as a fire fighter,” he reminded Lee. “And even though you and Grandpa Nelson couldn't tell me all the top secret stuff, you passed on what you could from Seaview. And though you could never tell me you worked for ONI, you passed that on as well in the way you lived your life. I am who I am today, because of you. I'm just thankful that I've had a living legacy to watch and learn from,” he added, referring to the fact that Lee grew up with only memories of his own father.

Lee lowered his head, his shoulders heaving in a silent sigh, choked up at his son's faith in him.

“I can imagine what Harry is going to say,” Lee said in resignation and a small chuckle.

“Uh...Well, Grandpa Nelson just grumbled a bit, lit a cigarette and then started teaching me how to break the hold when a bad guy puts you in a head lock,” he laughed.

“You already talked to Harry about this?” Lee asked shocked.

“Not exactly, but it's not like you can put one over on him either.”

“Don't I know it,” Lee said with a smile that faded. “Would you have told me if ONI hadn't given me a courtesy call?” Lee asked, as ONI knew that Christopher was the son of a two star admiral and the grandson of a four star admiral and that certain courtesies applied.

“I haven't said 'yes' yet Dad... but I want to.”

“And you're waiting for my blessing?” Lee asked incredulously.

“I'm waiting for your understanding,” Christopher replied.

Lee stared back out to the open sea and nodded to himself.

“Chris it was never my intention to ever hold you back from your convictions, but you don't have to do this to live up to Harry's or my career in ONI,” he stopped and looked back at his son, both their hazel eyes meeting and connecting deeply. “You're already everything I've always wanted in a son, I need to know you're not doing this to be a hero, because you're already a hero to me,” Lee urged as his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Christopher took his father's words with pride, their mutual love and respect never held back in machoism. He shook his head, needing to set the record straight and to set his father's concerns at ease.

“I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do Dad; because if I don't do it someone else will have to... and because the world is still a dangerous place and someday I'm going to have children of my own. I want to give them everything you gave me,” he replied with his own tears glistening as Lee heard words as familiar as an old tune; the very words that drove him all his life.

“And Dad, the feeling's mutual... you're all the hero a kid could have or ever want, I'm proud to be your son,” he finished as Lee placed a fatherly hand on his son's shoulder and pulled him into an emotional embrace.

“Wow,” Lee said after a few minutes, breaking the moment as the two chuckled.

“So what do you think Mom will say?” Christopher asked, looking a bit worried.

“Your Mom is a very strong and courageous woman,” Lee replied with conviction. “There's no way I could have done this all these years without her strength back home.”

“She's not going to like it,” Christopher predicted.

“No, but she'll always support you. You know that.”

“Yeah,” the younger Crane answered. “So, are you going to show me all your tricks?” Christopher asked with a gleam in his eyes, as ONI had laid it all on the line in their recruitment, exposing Lee as one of ONI's best. Even now, he was still known for completing missions and miracle escapes.

“I'll teach you everything ONI taught me,” Lee promised. “And a few things your Old Man picked up on his own... if you promise me one thing.”

Christopher nodded his agreement.

“When the burden gets too much to bear, that you'll pass the torch on to someone else,” Lee stipulated.

“I promise Dad.”

“Then let's get started,” Lee said, ready to pass on every bit of wisdom and knowledge he had acquired in his near forty years of service.

* * * * *

Lee leaned over the rail thinking of all the rookies he had trained over the years, even Admiral Johnson's own nephew, Jake.* Gerald had passed away almost five years ago, but he still remembered the admiral's concern on that mission over twenty-five years ago. Johnson had stacked the deck to make sure Jake came home by assigning the dangerous mission to Lee as his seasoned partner. He knew that no matter what, Lee wouldn't leave the Rookie behind since the mission was marked with a Disavowal Disclaimer.

He still remembered the conversations he had with Jake; he'd been vehemently opposed to bringing the Rookie along with a DD attached to the mission.

“Permission to speak freely, Sir?” Jake asked as he stopped in front of the superior officer.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” Lee replied, still harboring his command face.

“Sir, is there some reason you don't trust me? I scored the top of my class in field training.”

“Lieutenant, do you know what the Disavowal Disclaimer is?” Lee asked matter-of-factly.

“Of course, Sir. It means if I'm caught the US will disavow any knowledge of my actions,” Jake answered.

“Good answer, straight from the textbook,” Lee observed. His eyes narrowed in intensity as he continued, “Now let me tell you what it really means,” he said rising from his chair and taking up pacing speed himself.

“It means that if you're caught there's no rescue party. You're on your own. There's no one coming on a white horse to save you, and if you think imprisonment is the worst thing that can happen – you're wrong. There's no creed of “No Man Left Behind” to hang onto in hope, and they won't even tell your parents that you died for your country. You'll disappear off the face of the earth and even the bad guys won't remember you.” Lee continued pacing and then stopped and faced Jake as he continued. “I don't object to you personally, but to put an unseasoned op into the field under these conditions is a burden you shouldn't have to bear yet.”

“How many DDs have you taken, Sir?” Jake asked, definitely heading somewhere with his question.

“More than my share,” Lee replied.

“And yet you've managed to make it back,” Jake answered.

“Yeah, and I've got the scars to prove it,” Lee ran a hand through his hair as he thought. The kid was determined to go; Johnson was determined to send him, although he didn't understand the Admiral's reasoning. This wasn't Seaview; he wasn't going to win the argument. He took a breath as he decided to do what he was sent along to do; teach the kid how to complete a mission and stay alive in the process.

In the end, Lee sacrificed his position, drawing the trail away from Jake and the intelligence they had gathered in order to make sure that the Rookie got away clean. He ended up with a painful knot tying demonstration as his captor had tortured him with ropes applied in such a way as to dislocate one shoulder and seriously compromise the other.

That painful mission stood out for several reasons, the most important because it was on that mission that Lee drew his strength to survive from a chance meeting on the beach with a beautiful young woman; a woman he would later marry, Brianna.

His very private moment of reflection was interrupted by the sound of water dripping on the deck behind him; Lee turned slowly, taking in the sight of Rico Santoro standing behind him, having just climbed over the rail. Lee did a quick assessment, noting a few more bruises across his face and crossed the deck to meet him.

“Come on, let's get you down below,” Lee said with an arm around his shoulder, even before the bear hug he wanted to give his son, making sure to keep Christopher's presence quiet as sound carried across the bay on the quiet night.

The young operative winced slightly as Lee recognized the hand splayed over one side.

“Mission accomplished?” Lee asked, hoping Christopher wasn't here to report and then reinsert himself back into the field.

“Mission accomplished,” Chris repeated, as Lee led him down into the state room he was using.

“How bad is your side?” Lee asked, before helping to peel away the layers of wet clothes.

“Not bad... tell Grandpa the head lock trick worked,” Christopher said with a slight chuckle, before wincing at the sharp pain the laughter invoked before Lee wrapped him up in a blanket and lowered him down on the bed.

“Anything that can't wait for a report in the morning?”

“No Sir,” the young Lieutenant replied not forgetting that his father was an admiral, as his eyes fluttered closed from too many days with too little sleep.

“I'll let ONI know you're back aboard, the sub is waiting for you... I'll hold them off for a few hours.”

“Thanks Dad,” he said, drifting off as Lee placed a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes, grateful for his son's safe return.

“I'm going to have to ask your mother how she did this for the last twenty-five years,” Lee mused quietly, referring to the waiting, followed by the realization that his son had been injured, even slightly.

He reached for the transmitter and contacted the sub, reporting the operative's return and setting up the extraction in four hours, then took the chair beside the bed, resting a .45 across his lap to ensure the young operative was well-protected while he slept.

“Now I know why Harry kept taking those missions,” Lee added just as quietly, looking across at the young man whose dark wavy curls made him look all of five years old. “Because every time he went, it kept one of you young guys at home,” he finished with a smile, knowing it was the same reason he continued to go when his country called.

* * * * *

Lee helped Christopher don his tank for the swim to the sub, though he himself had to keep up the cover and would be sailing out with the Wandering Lady in the morning. He'd take a commercial flight out and meet back up with Christopher in Washington DC for the debriefing.

“Are you going to be alright?” Lee asked nodding towards Chris's sore side.

“Yeah, just bruised... no breaks,” he answered nonchalantly.

Lee cracked a smile at those familiar words. “Fine, just be sure to share your self-diagnosis with the Doc,” he ordered. “And when we get home you can tell me how you learned to cop such a convincing attitude,” he added with a smile, remembering how well Christopher played the Eddie Haskell part.

“Learned from a Pro,” the younger Crane replied referring to his Dad's own good acting skills and the coaching he gave him on how to take on a cover. They exchanged appreciative smiles just as a frogman breeched the surface, waiting to escort the operative to the sub.

Christopher positioned the face mask in place. “Are we still on to go sailing on my next leave?”

“You got it,” Lee promised to Chris's small smile before he applied his regulator and climbed down the ladder to enter the water without the slightest splash.

Lee watched as the two disappeared under the depths while he silently considered the cycle of the legacy he had passed on; gleaned from the memories of his father, a special friendship forged with Harriman Nelson, and his own life in the pursuit of integrity. He had passed on the best he had to offer from both of his fathers, and his son had received it in fine form. He wasn't exactly ready to pass the torch completely, but he when he did, he knew it was in good hands. And though he wished he could have spared his son the dangers of the espionage world, he rested in the fact that the kid was a natural and maybe, just maybe... the Rookie wasn't a Rookie any longer.

The End

Passing the Torch

* See my story, The Rookie

The Legacy Series is a compilation of non-related stories featuring the legacy a father leaves behind for his children and the result when a child picks up the torch for the next generation. The stories are:

Legacy (posted 2013 and revised 11-16-2015), Ripples of Humanity (posted 11-16-2015) and this one, Passing the Torch.