My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

~In God We Trust~

28

I made my way to the Control Room this morning prior to morning watch, not that I had one, to get the latest from the Officer of the Deck, who was Sparks right now, the radio manned by Kowalski.

“No bogeys in Flying Sub range overnight. Some bogeys over the continental US and our allies, but intercepts got them all. Some structural damage to their targets from falling fuselage debris, no radioactive fallout. Things sure are looking better, though there were reports of some enemy squadrons flying into US airspace again, and trying to strafe our power plants. Trying to being the operative words. Our flyboys stopped them, though there have been some casualties. All of the surviving enemy pilots have requested asylum...sure hope the skip gets released today.”

“Frankly, I think his injuries may be too severe for it.”

“Well, at least he was in good spirits yesterday.”

“That’s half the battle in recovery,” Ski said, turning from the Radio Shack.

“Indeed it is,” I replied, and headed aft.

***

Chip and Jiggs were already in the Wardroom, downing pancakes.

“Morning, sir,” Chip said. “The DOD gave us the all clear to proceed to Norfolk to pick up more intercepts and formulation since we’re out.”

“I can’t help wondering why Norfolk,” Jiggs said, “We’re in the Pacific. Certainly there are intercepts at our western bases.”

“I’ve wondered about that myself,” Chip said. “I almost called the SOD’s office to ask why, but thought the better of it. Must have his reasons.”

“What route are you going to take?” I asked as I poured myself a cup of joe from the countertop.

“Figure the Panama Canal is the best choice. Less time than under the South Pole.”

“News about the skipper,” Ski interrupted over the PA and the monitor came to life showing several news vans and folks outside of the Provincetown Hospital.

I quickly sat down next to Chip to watch the latest.

“...It’s unlikely that former president Nelson-Crane will be released from the hospital today. And he has been scheduled to be fitted for a new prosthesis by the manufacturing company’s technicians. Our sources have indicated that the new digital eye should just about match our hero’s organic eye in shape and color. But we’ll just have to wait and see.

“...President Sisemen agreed to congress’s request that the orb be funded through the national budget even though Nelson-Crane was purely civilian on his Mosquito run and it’s unknown at this time just how the orb was lost. Did it fall out of his socket, or a pocket? Was it eaten by a shark, though unlikely as his bite wounds are on his torso and arms. In any case, Sisemen only agreed to government funding if the new prosthesis is minus any special James Bond type gadgets such as X-ray vision and lasers. There have been rumors, however, that the orb may already have them, in which case the funding will be up to Nelson-Crane, who is financially bankrupt, although as we all know he does have access to some rather deep familial pockets.”

I said nothing.

“You’ve already dug into your pockets, haven’t you?” Jiggs asked me.

“I simply told the company that should financing be a problem that I was good for it...Lee might still be able to find a way himself.”

Chip raised an eyebrow.

“Well, sort of, maybe,” I smirked.

“...Meanwhile, the residents of Sand Crab Lane in Cape Cod,” the anchor said, “are busy prepping for Sunday’s planned lobster bake, in the hopes their native son will be home by then. It’s doubtful he’ll be allowed to set or collect any lobster traps, but nobody cares if he has to remain on the sidelines. His homecoming is all his mother and friends care about. Speaking of Mrs. Crane, she did visit her son in Provincetown and is still here.

“...If Nelson-Crane does return to their home by Sunday, he can enjoy lobster, other shellfish like clams and mussels, corn on the cob, potatoes, and even home-churned ice cream for dessert. In fact, Mrs. Crane is reported to have said that if her son can’t wear George Washington’s ring at least he can expect George Washington’s favorite dessert. In fact, Washington spent over $200 at the time on ice cream one summer when he was president, that’s almost $6,000 today. It wasn’t the same kind of ice cream we have today. Basically ice was cut out of frozen rivers, cream added and fruit and fruit juices were used for flavoring. And it was on the runny side.

“...In other news the president has asked the AMA if Nelson-Crane’s latest vision of the Nelson twins was indicative of brain damage as they continue evaluate his MRI’s as there can’t be any shadow of doubt of his cognitive abilities as there can’t be a shadow of a doubt regarding his cognitive functions.”

“Lee’s got more cognitive right now than that nitwit!”

Shock and silence from all at his less than civil outburst.

“That nitwit part’s unofficial, of course,” he added.

“Good to hear,” Jiggs said, “as it wouldn’t do for you to be court martialed for gross insubordination.”

“I don’t care. Lee’s still got more horse sense than anyone in Washington, brain damaged or not, which I’ll bet my dolphins on that he isn’t.”

Applause and banging on tables.

“And,” he added, “just because science can’t prove he saw the twins any of the times he says he did, it doesn’t mean he didn’t see them.”

“I agree, Lad,” I said as I got up to pour myself more coffee, “and we’ve had more than a few paranormal experiences ourselves.”

“Yeah, God help us from the likes of Capt. Krueger again.”

“The skipper and we could all take lie detector tests and truth serum to prove everything,” Cookie said.

“Or simply share our security cam recordings,” Chip said.

“The press would say we manufactured the cams and the lie detector and truth serum results,” I said.

“Damn,” Cookie pouted. “Well, I’d best bake some cookies...we can have a party when the skip’s released. Maybe we can send out divers to hunt for some lobsters? Celebrate the lobster bake in spirit with him on Sunday? If he gets out in time, that is.”

“I’m afraid the Navy wouldn’t allow it,” Chip said.

“I don’t see why not,” I said. “We could use the Flying Sub while she’s free of any scouting for the enemy, and while Fail Safe’s clear. Seaview wouldn’t lose any time on the way to Norfolk.”

“Let me think about it,” Chip said and that was the end of the topic of discussion.

***

I was looking forward to the 55 miles through the marvel of engineering we’d soon be undertaking, though we had a ways to get to the entrance. Chip wasn’t at all enthusiastic about it as it was all too possible to scratch the paint. Chip knew I wouldn’t scold if he did, but this was still Lee’s boat as far as we were all concerned. Protecting her for him was a priority.

Chip verified that the inertial navigator was spot on, so, satisfied, Jiggs and I meandered to the Observation Nose and enjoyed the diffused light from the surface to our present depth as we sailed toward our destination.

“Captain? Admirals?” Cookie asked as he came down the spiral ladder, holding a plate holding three cookies.

“Thanks,” I said taking one.

“Oatmeal Raisin,” Chip said, approaching, taking one, “Good job, Cookie. The skipper’s favorite.”

“Captain, are we gonna’ be able to go lobstering?” Cookie asked, as Jiggs took his cookie.

“I’m afraid the Pacific Spiny Lobster’s been rather over fished from the latest EPA’s report. We don’t want to be accused of contributing to the problem...so no lobstering, I’m afraid. Sorry. It would have been nice.”

“Breaking news,” the new watch’s duty Sparks relayed over the PA. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t recall the man’s name. It took a few minutes for the monitor to clear of static to show the Fox news anchor desk....

“...Rumors are flying that the surgeon general’s MRI of former President Nelson-Crane matches pixel for pixel of a patient who died over eight years ago, the image used in five year old training manuals for technicians. Was there a mix-up in the MRI’s taken at Walter Reed? Or, are some of the rumors true that using this textbook image was a ploy by the surgeon general and possibly the executive office to remove Nelson-Crane from returning to the presidency?

“...Walter Reed’s administration office says their security cameras were down at the time the surgeon general was taking Nelson-Crane’s MRI. The Justice Dept. is investigating. Remember, these are only rumors of malfeasance.”

“Holy cow,” Jiggs said then studied me. “You don’t seem surprised, Harriman.”

“Let’s just say that Lee and Joe had some evidence that things were not quite right. Something more than the MRI itself. Something different from Will’s observations of the faxed transparency. Lee and Joe kept the details to themselves.”

“My God, Harriman. Why keep anything secret?”

“Because,” I sighed, “Lee no doubt, felt it his duty not to put the country into any more turmoil, okay?”

“Damn.”

“....We take you now to just outside the gate of the Provincetown Hospital,” the reporter said, “where former President Nelson-Crane will be released in a few minutes. A cab is pulling up, presumably for him....there he is!”

Indeed he was, in the standard insurance demanded wheelchair steered by an orderly. On each side of him were Joe and Mrs. C.

Both Lee and Joe looked rather battered from their ordeal, their bandages, bruises, and stitches speaking volumes.

“..Is that his new prosthesis or a glass eye?” the reporter mused, “ Hard to tell from here. They’ve seen us and are telling the cab driver to wait as the orderly helps Nelson-Crane up. Both heroes are coming over....

‘...Mr. President? Mr. President? How are you feeling, sir?”

“...Just call me Lee, remember? Pretty sore, but glad to be out in the open air and to have peripheral vision again, well, sort of.”

“...So that’s a prosthesis, not a glass eye?”

“...Yes and it pretty much matches my real eye, don’t you think?”

“...Just about...everyone wants to know, does it have any extras?”

“...Sorry,” Joe interrupted, taking Lee’s arm, “the meter’s running.”

With that he pulled Lee away and to the cab. In minutes they’d joined Mrs. C. in it, and were driven away.

“Pretty sure bet it does have extras,” I smirked.

“...It will be a hefty fare to Cape Cod,” the reporter said, “not a bad one if the trio is taking a commuter flight...wait...we’ve just been informed the community of Sand Crab Lane has not only paid for the cab to bring Mrs. Crane here last night, but also to take her, Nelson-Crane and Jackson to the Provincetown airport where a commuter flight has been reserved and paid for by the three by the Sand Crab Lane Homeowners Association. We’ll bring you more of the prodigal’s return home. For now, we’re returning to our regular programming.”

The monitor switched off.

“You really have to adjust his pay as NIMR and Seaview’s co-owner,” Jiggs told me.

“He earns a lot. Just spends foolishly.”

“I understood most of it goes to his mother and to charity.”

“Well, there is that, but he could be a bit more circumspect.”

“Did he get any severance pay from the White House budget?”

“I really don’t know,” I sighed. “I do know before he took office he spent far too much on his fix her upper sailboats that he gave to the Zartarian Agency.”

“Also other charities, and some individuals,” Chip said. “Ames at NIMR can get you a list of the ones Lee used to put on his income tax deductions before he was first in the Oval Office, but there were some donated funds he kept private and didn’t declare.”

“How do you know all this?” Jiggs asked.

“You’re getting nosy, Jiggs,” I warned.

“Don’t you want to know how’s he’s bankrupted himself, other than the planes he rented and damaged?”

“Of course I do, but I’d rather he tell me, when and if he wants to.”

“He’s got you wrapped around his little finger.”

I could only smile.

***

Cookie was indeed disappointed about not being able to have a lobster bake on Sunday in honor of Seaview’s former skipper but planned on tuna casserole, the kind with potato chips. He added to that plans for Scalloped Corn. Might not be corn on the cob, but close enough for government work, as the saying goes. Besides, we all knew Scalloped Corn was a favorite of Lee’s.

Meanwhile, Cookie was busy baking cookies, cupcakes, and brownies for our impromptu ‘welcome home’, to be served to all of Seaview’s compliment as soon as we saw Lee set foot in Cape Cod.

It wasn’t long before all of us were drooling from the aromas wafting from the galley throughout Seaview.

All monitors were glued to five split screens, three major networks currently broadcasting game shows, soap operas, and talk shows. I recognized two of the talk show guests and had Sparks magnify it.

“...It will take the likes of Sherlock Holmes,” the woman was saying, “to figure out if there’s any truth to the rumors circulating that the surgeon general’s MRI of Nelson-Crane had been replaced by a textbook MRI taken of a so far unidentified patient eight years ago. . The surgeon general claims someone else must have switched the patient files, although Walter Reed administrators claim their files over two years old are digitized and stored elsewhere. The surgeon general has been summoned to the White House, but there’s been no comment from either.

“Of course not,” I muttered.

Breaking news interrupted the talk show, a police barricade coming into view at the now famous Sand Crab Lane beach access road. Several news vans with their cameras and reporters were kept at bay, while the residents gathered with red, white, and blue balloons, and ‘welcome home’ signs. Every house and cottage on the beach front had flags pasted to the wood frames where possible, and some flying from makeshift flag poles. One had to wonder if the press would point out that fishing poles were not exactly approved to hoist Old Glory.

“...Here they come!” someone yelled as a police escort of two motorcycles led and tailed a cab.

Joe hopped out first after it parked behind a few news vans. He received a fair amount of applause, then as he helped Mrs. Crane out with her overnight bag, the driver got out to open the door and assist Lee out from the other side.

I swear the sound of cheering and applause could probably be heard all the way to Boston as the crowd surrounded him, cautious not to hug him too hard due to his injuries. Some of the older ladies ruffled some of his curls that weren’t singed or too close to his stitches.

Mrs. C. must have taken him the red plaid shirt, jeans, socks, and fresh sneakers with her to the hospital. He liked red plaid, I knew. He had a red plaid robe he’d worn at times aboard Seaview. But I digress.

Lee smiled sheepishly as he received all the friendly and neighborly attention. Winston, on a leash held by one of Mrs. C.’s neighbors demanded Lee’s attention and he bent down stiffly, to scoop his dog up who slathered him with kissy licks.

With a wave to the press, he, surrounded by his friends and neighbors, and of course with his mother on one arm and Joe beside him on the other side, all made their way off of the access road and down toward the beachfront.

Suddenly Lee pointed to a rainbow in the distance over the sea, and dropped to his knees, bowing his head.

Silence by all for his moment of reflection, or possibly prayer.

When he rose, a reporter called out, “Anything to say?”

“In God We Trust,” Lee called back, “or at least we should.”

There were no more questions as the crowd continued to escort the party to Mrs. C.’s cottage.

Before Mrs. C., Joe, and Lee could climb up the still damaged steps, someone in the crowd played ‘Hail to the Chief’ on a harmonica. “Perhaps,” Lee said with a grin, and after opening the door for his mother, disappeared from sight followed in by as many of his friends and neighbors that could fit in the cottage, others taking up space on the porch and on the sand.

While the broadcasts recapped everything, Chip announced Seaview’s ‘Welcome Home’ for the skipper could begin with rotations in the Wardroom and Crew’s Mess to insure all could enjoy the repast of cookies and brownies.

“My God, did you see that?” Chip asked, “A rainbow coming out right when it did?”

“He’s still going to get some guff from the separation of church and state politicians from kneeling like that and what he said,” O’Brien said taking the conn.

“He’s not president right now,” Jiggs said, “and it’s his constitutional right to believe in and say what he wants to regarding a Higher Authority.”

“Indeed,” I said. “I’ll join you and Chip in the Wardroom after I make a phone call,” I added as we all headed aft.

***

I was surprised that Edith answered my call, placed through to Emmie’s videophone.

“She’s fine,” Edith told me before I could question why she’d answered instead of Emmie. “Washing her hair right now. Should be done soon. So, how does it feel to get another Nobel prize?”

“I don’t have it yet, just nominated. I’m simply satisfied that I may have helped to get this war to end soon.”

“Of course,” she said, interrupted by Caderwaller.

I raised my eyebrow.

“Sir,” he said as soon as he saw me. “On disciplinary leave. Edith, er, Miss Nelson invited me here.”

“It’s not as if we’re sleeping together or anything like that,” Edith was quick to add. “He’s staying at a hotel.”

“We’re just friends, sir,” he added.

“Honest,” Edith said.

“I believe you...”

“Hello, sweetheart,” Emmie interrupted, approaching, towel around her hair, and garbed in her favorite fuzzy terry bathrobe.

“We’ll leave you two lovebirds to chat for awhile,” Edith said, vacating the room with Caderwaller.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” I asked.

“Fair enough. But it’s getting more and more uncomfortable carting these two around,” she said patting her swollen belly. “Harry, what’s going on about the surgeon general? Was there a plot to keep Lee from returning to office?”

“What do I know if there’s anything to the rumors?” I lied.

“You know something,” she said, “your eye twitches when you’re hiding something...well, sometimes. Did Lee tell you something?”

“Sweetheart, if Lee told me anything in confidence, you’d want me to break that trust? And no, I don’t know anything about the rumors in the press. ”

“Your eye twitched again,” she sighed. “To change the subject, did Lee really see the twins this time?”

“Possibly, but even he’s not sure if he was hallucinating from oxygen deprivation, or if it was another near death experience when he was drowning.”

“I was hoping they had spoken with him,” she sighed. “I’d like to know what they think about Aurora Leigh and Jimmy Lee.”

“Well, when they’re here and old enough, they can tell us.”

“True...what are you looking at your watch for? You called me, you know, not the other way around. What are you so anxious about...spill.”

“Cookie’s been baking...in celebration of Lee’s release from the hospital. Cookies and brownies. He claims to have made enough for everyone, still...”

“Of course...There’s a lot of celebrating in Santa Barbara too.

Decorated cakes and things. Even a town lobster bake’s planned for Sunday.”

“We thought about that ourselves, but the lobsters in this part of the sea are small and endangered. We’ll be having tuna casserole on Sunday instead.”

“Oh dear,” she laughed. “Does Cookie know you’re not very partial to it?”

“No, but I’ll have some anyway.”

“Lee’s new eye looks good. Does it have any ‘extras’? You can tell me.”

“Afraid even I don’t know, sweetheart.”

That wasn’t exactly the truth but it wasn’t exactly a lie either. But when Joe had so quickly intervened without either he or Lee answering the same question at the hospital, well, I was pretty sure that the new orb might very well have some gadgetry.

“Excuse me,” Edith said, entering. “the news is showing Lee on the front porch....”

“Thank you, dear,” Emmie said. “Well, Harry, you probably want to watch too. Love you,” she said blowing a kiss.

“Same here,” I said and did likewise before ending the call.

Then I noticed the monitor had already been tuned to the broadcast....

The telephoto view showed Lee, relaxed in a wicker rocking chair on the crowded porch, lemonade in one hand. Sweetie was on his lap, Winston beside his now bare feet. Several of the friends and neighbors on the porch were busy speaking with him while Joe, on the steps, beer in hand, was probably exchanging tales with the crowd about Lee’s escapades during his early years before and after joining the service. Lee smirked and rolled his eyes on occasion, stroking his contended cat.

“...Again, respecting Nelson-Crane’s privacy with his mother, friends, and neighbors,” the reporter said, “we have turned off audio that would pick up private conversations at the Crane home. We can see that Mrs. Crane and some of her lady friends are emerging with foil bins full of cookies and brownies, cupcakes, and cinnamon rolls not to mention paper plates for everyone to dig in.

She appears to be scolding him and has removed the cat from his lap sharing in his repast. Cookies and brownies are not good for cats, but Nelson-Crane was only letting Sweetie lick his butter coated fingers. Yes, butter with brownies is a family favorite, we’re told.

Just then a beach buggy began drove along the beach front properties stopping at each house. Several of the residents visiting Mrs. Crane and Lee, hurried off to go collect their baskets of potatoes and ears of corn.

It wasn’t long before the buggy stopped in front of Mrs. Crane’s cottage. Joe and surprisingly Lee, who used a handrail to walk down from the patio to the base of the steps, collected a basket of spuds, corncobs, and an ice filled basket of bivalves. I couldn’t tell from the distance just what kind, mussels, clams, or oysters. There was also a basket of dripping wet seaweed.

Lee had to make two trips, each time using the railing to climb up the steps to the porch. Joe and some of the neighbors helped to load the potatoes and corn on the porch, and take the bivalves and seaweed into the house, while Mrs. C. made Lee sit back down in the rocker before joining her friends inside, presumably to refrigerate the perishables.

“...Is Nelson-Crane really going to peel potatoes and shuck corn and well, whatever those shells are?” one of the reporters asked the dune buggy driver when he’d completed his deliveries down the beach, turned, and driven back to the access road.

“...Sure think so. The clams too, I bet. He’s a good boy, always has been. Except,” he laughed, “when he snuck a ‘Mr. Potato Head’ decorated spud into the bin with a pumpkin treated in my father’s store. Signed them with ‘Artistry by Lee Crane. Donations welcome’.

That was before his father died. They weren’t strapped for cash yet. Would you believe the potato and pumpkin actually sold? My dad said he sold the spud for fifty cents and the pumpkin went for a whole dollar. Meant a whole more back then. Never did say who bought them when he gave Lee the money. In any case, I was so jealous that the little dweeb got a bit of spending money for something so stupid. Man, some of us pleaded with him to spring for some ice cream for us. But he went into the diner alone. I remember the triple scoop ice cream cone he had when he came out, the chocolate syrup dripping down his chin. Smirked and thumbed his nose at us. In retrospect I guess he was justified to get the biggest ice cream cone he could with the money he’d earned by himself.”

“...Could the buyer of the potato and pumpkin have been your father?”

“...I asked, but Mom said it was anonymous. But she could have wanted to spare my feelings for not having been as inventive as Lee had been,” he laughed, and drove off.

Just then the news trucks on the access road showed a police cruiser drive up, lights flashing. A cop and a man in business suit got out and headed down to the beachfront properties, stopping at Mrs. Crane’s.

We could only see from the telephoto lens that the man showed Lee a badge and ID, then handed him an envelope which he opened to read, afterwards handing it to Joe. Lee and Joe nodded to the man, then went into the house, leaving everyone bewildered, including Mrs. C. to whom Lee had nodded ‘no’ to keep her from following.

The boys emerged shortly, Lee having put on the shoes and socks he’d discarded earlier, and accompanied the visitors, and his mother to the beach access road, nodding to the concerned Sandy Crab Lane inhabitants to remain behind. No one disobeyed him but they all watched with concern.

Lee spoke to his mother briefly on their way along the beach toward the access road. I sure wished I could read lips.

The four finally reached the road, and closer visual and audio by the news teams as they walked toward the police car.

Lee took his mother in his arms.

“Bye Mom,” Lee told her, “shouldn’t take too long, I hope anyway.”

“...What is it, Mr. Pre...I mean Lee,” the reporter asked.

“...A summons,” Lee answered, waving the envelope.

“...Are you in trouble?”

“...We don’t know,” Joe said and got into the back of the car, as Lee kissed his mother goodbye and joined him. The stranger joined the cop in the front seat. Then the patrol car whisked them away, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

“...Mrs. Crane, do you know what this is about?” the reporter.

“...Only that Lee has to go to Washington and see the Chief Justice. That’s all I know,” she sighed and headed back down the beach.

With that the newscast reverted to the anchor desk, but I hurried to the Control Room..

***

“What do you think it is?” Chief Sharkey asked as I headed approached Chip, Jiggs, and O’Brien.

“Not a clue. Could be a good thing or a bad thing. Chip, how far are we from Panama City?”

“About a day and a half, and that’s at flank if the engines can take it.”

“Don’t risk burning them out. Alternate between full and flank. I’m going to call the Justice Dept...I’ll need a secure line, Sparks,” I called out. “My cabin.”

“Why not just call Lee’s cellphone?” Jiggs asked.

“Even he doesn’t know what the summons is about.”

“But he might have a clue.”

“Chip, I don’t want the summons to dampen the celebrations. Be sure everyone has a chance at the goodies.”

“Aye sir.”

***

“Sparks, what the devil is taking so long?” I demanded from my cabin’s intercom a few minutes later.

“Sorry sir. The office is using an automated answering system. I can’t get through to an operator no matter what I try.”

“Very well, keep trying, but get me ONI, preferably Admiral Cartwright. Jiggs, join me in my cabin.”

***

Within minutes of arriving in my cabin, Sparks informed me that my call was ready and coming through my videophone.

I used the retina scan and entered a code to allow Jiggs to as a member of my party. the screen cleared.
“If this is about Lee’s summons,” Cartwright said before I spoke, “I don’t know anything about it. Johnson and I are damn curious. Are you sure he didn’t confide anything to you?”

It was impossible to remain silent.

“Well, his old eyeball recorded something in the Oval Office before he and his mother left the White House.”

“On purpose?”

“Afraid so. He had some suspicions. I believe it had something to do with the surgeon general and the president and it did record something before he needed it for his Operation Statue of Liberty...never informed me just what the eyeball recorded. And now it’s at the bottom of the sea or in a shark’s stomach someplace. Look, Lee will kill me if he finds out I told you this much.”

“Of course...you think Jackson knows?”

“Actually, I think he must.”

“Why keep anything they discovered secret?”

“To protect the country from any scandal regarding the Oval Office during the current crisis, why else?”

“You may be right. Listen, you leave Jackson to me. He might do whatever Lee tells him, even follow him into hell, but I’ll get to the bottom of this, Harriman. Out.”

Jiggs suggested we head to the Wardroom and Crew’s Mess to check out the decorations and have what was left of any cookies and brownies.

***

We entered the crew’s mess first, to see men taking down the ‘welcome home’ decorations.

“What are you doing?” I asked

“The skipper’s been taken away from home....”

“It’s only a summons,” I interrupted. “Probably just some technical mumbo jumbo the Justice Dept. needs clarified, that’s all, Keep the decorations up. This is a celebration that he’s out of the hospital, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir!” the men said and began to return the decorations they’d taken down back up.

“By the way. I’ll have Patterson take some professional photos of them. I’m sure the skipper will enjoy them. Now, do you still have enough cookies and brownies down here?”

“Yes, sir! But Cookie took them all back to the galley. Said it was inappropriate to eat them now.”

“Didn’t Captain Morton tell him not to cancel the celebration?”

“Yes, sir, we all heard him, but, well...Cookie thought....

“Cookie? I called through the wall mike in case he was busy in the galley, “You put all those cookies and brownies back out immediately. You’re on report for disobeying a direct order of Captain Morton’s. Acknowledge.”

“Aye, sir,” Cookie’s voice came over the PA just as we felt Seaview surface.

***

“Pat thought he saw a bogey on radar,” O’Brien told us as soon as Jiggs and I reached the Control Room. “Cap’n Morton’s gone topside to check on anything visual.”

“No contact,” Chip’s voice preceded him as he climbed down the ladder, moving over to Patterson.

“You’re sure you saw something?” Chip asked him. “Could it have been light refraction on the screen?”

“I’m positive, sir.”

“Very well...take her down, Frank. Make it four hundred feet. Sparks, contact the DOD.”

“A bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” Jiggs asked.

“Let the captain do what he thinks best,” I warned, pulling Jiggs with me to the Observation Nose.

It didn’t take too long for the DOD to call, and reported they had no reports or satellite imaging of anything matching Pat’s sighting.

“Breaking News”, Sparks called out, our monitors turning on to full screen setting instead of split screens.

“...We’re at Andrews Air Force Base,” a reporter said, “where we’ve been granted access to one of their security cams showing an unmarked plane landing. We’ve been informed that former President Nelson-Crane, given a summons just earlier today, reason unknown, is aboard.”

The plane had stopped and taxied toward a vacated area of tarmac, while a black Justice Dept. sedan drove near along with an Air Force jeep.

“...Our sources tell us,” the reporter continued, “that there has been no word from the Justice Dept. as to the reason for Nelson-Crane’s summons. Meanwhile, back in Cape Cod, preparations for Sunday’s lobster bake on Sand Crab Lane, are still underway.”

Just then a rolling ramp hooked onto the airplane’s now open hatchway. Lee was first to deplane, followed by Joe as the occupants of the vehicles emerged.

An Air Force general greeted Lee and Joe, followed by a flustered Justice Dept. executive. She appeared flustered, and I was pretty certain, it was because she was in close proximity to the two attractive, if battle scarred, and eligible men.

It was easy to see the woman was impressed meeting the two young men. Her driver indicated the men get into the back of her car while she joined her driver in the front. Soon they were off and the reporter returned to regular programming.

“Videophone call from Admiral Cartwright of ONI for Admiral Nelson, secure,” Sparks reported as the monitor clicked off.

“I’ll take it in my cabin,” I replied and headed aft with Jiggs.

***

“Well?” I asked Cartwright, after Jiggs and I had our retina’s scanned and my videophone came to life.

“Jackson declined to tell me anything. But then he was with Lee on the plane. I did find out from the Justice Dept. that the meeting with the Chief Justice is scheduled to be a one-on one with Lee, so maybe Joe really doesn’t know whatever the summons is about, or anything else.”

“Shit,” I muttered.

“However,” Cartwright hesitated, “Since I believe this summons could have something to do with national security...well...I can activate Lee’s new eyeball to give us audio visual of the meeting, yes, it has gadgets. Don’t worry, ONI has clearance to spy if deemed necessary. One of those little things no one notices in the fine print about our organization. The thing is, if Lee realize we’re watching and listening it, could be hell to pay with him.”

“Does the president know about the gadgets?” Jiggs asked.

“We felt it best to wait.”

“Ah...the boys are arriving....”

The image was slightly pixelated around the edges, as we saw from the eyeball’s point of view as the boys exited the car with the woman at the drop off point of the Justice Dept.

Neither Lee nor Joe said anything as they entered the building, except for Lee to ask where the men’s room was. After they were ushered to the door, and they boys disappeared inside.

“I told you that you should have gone before we left your mom’s,” Joe said, loudly enough to be heard while checking to make sure there were not telltale shoes in the stalls. “All clear.”

Lee said nothing as he used a small devise in his hand to ‘sweep’ the walls, lights, and ceiling.

“Here too.”

“Now,” Joe said, “you want to yell at me again?”
“You were supposed to send an anonymous email to the Washington Post and now this!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, it was anonymous. Untraceable. And no details, just that according to my sources the president and surgeon general might be guilty of malfeasance regarding certain MRI’s. Nothing more. And the unsubstantiated email was printed by the Washington Post in their Letters to the Editor as planned. As planned!”
“Yeah, well, you must have done something wrong, why else would we be summoned here? Damn it, Joe, we could be arrested for what we did and....”

“My names not on the summons, bro. And you weren’t exactly opposed to spying on their meetings in the first place.”
“All I wanted after we saw the recording, was a rumor of malfeasance in the court of public opinion...making the surgeon general’s reading of that damn MRI suspicious. The Post must have figured out it was your email and told the chief justice.”

“Then I’d be the one summoned, not you.”

Just then someone entered and the two stopped arguing, leaving.

The boys rejoined their escort at the elevator and remained silent on their way up.

The elevator opened up to a lobby, where they were signed in at a receptionist’s desk who clicked an intercom.

“Former President Nelson-Crane to see the chief justice.”

“Send him in,” a voice answered.

“With Cmdr. Jackson,” Lee added.

“This has nothing to do with him,” the voice said.

“If you don’t see him, you don’t see me, summons or not,” Lee said.

“Lee, you could be charged for contempt of court,” Joe hissed.

“This is not a court of law,” the voice said.

“Come on, Joe,” Lee said and turned and began to return to the elevator.

“I think he means it, your honor,” the receptionist said into the intercom.

“Oh very well, send them in,” the voice said.

The receptionist pressed a button and the double wide door opened.

Joe was concerned as Lee didn’t move away from the elevator.

“Sirs?” the receptionist called out. “Sirs?” she attempted again, then pressed the intercom. “They haven’t moved, your honor.”

“Good God, I’ll be right there.”

In seconds the chief justice emerged, his eyes making contact with Lee.

“Still as opinionated as ever, I see,” the chief justice said. “How do you ever manage to put up with him, Cmdr. Jackson?”

“Somebody has to, your honor.”

“I suppose you want me to turn this in?” Lee asked dangerously as he took folded summons out of his shirt pocket.

“That’s for the second meeting.”

“There’s more than one?” Joe asked.

“Not exactly. I want to discuss something else with him first. Could be boring, Cmdr., if you’d like to wait out here. The summons comes after, which is what I believe he wants you along for.”

“I’d still like Joe to accompany me for both.” Lee said.

“Come along, Mr. President, Cmdr.,” the justice led them to the open doors.

The chief justice’s suite was rather small, its outsized desk taking up a great deal of room. Two chairs were in front of the desk, a small sofa along the wall under some book shelves which also housed a TV. A woman, standing by the window turned.

I gasped.

“You know her?” Jiggs asked me.

“Afraid so,” I sighed.

“Mr. President, Cmdr.,” the chief justice said, meet Mrs. Applegate, of the Applegate Auction House.”

“How do you do,” Lee said, extending his hand politely. “And it’s just Lee now, please.”

“Very well, ‘Lee’.”

“Cmdr. Jackson,” Joe said extending his hand likewise, “Just Joe.”

“Very well, Just Joe, Now, let’s get down to business. Go ahead Mr. Chief Justice. I’ll remain standing if you don’t mind.”

“What are you waiting for?” the justice told Lee and Joe. “Sit down.”

As soon as they seated themselves in the chairs across form him, he began.

“There seems to be a problem with the George Washington ring.”

“Does it have a curse on it or something?” Joe asked. It sounded flippant but I could tell he looked serious.

“I don’t see what I have to do with it as it’s not mine to wear anymore,” Lee said.

“Martha Custis Washington,” Mrs. Applegate said, “supposedly had a codicil to her will specifying that that particular ring of George’s be kept in the family. Well, the codicil was lost or misplaced by the time of her death and George’s stepson took ownership of the ring. Not a problem at the time. But from him it was passed on down through his descendants and was finally sold off by one of them to cover some gambling debts.”

“And that’s a problem because?” Lee asked.

“The codicil was just discovered at Mt. Vernon, tucked inside an old cookery book. In a nutshell, the remaining Custis descendants want the ring back.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“They want to sue you,” the justice said, “and the auction house, for dealing with stolen property, they call it.”

“That’s absurd on the face of it,” Joe said.

“Indeed, it’s a frivolous lawsuit, but it could conceivably go to court.”

“We need you, Mr. President...”

“Lee.”

“Lee,” Mrs. Applegate said, “We need you to convince Admiral Nelson to waive his rights for full reimbursement from his purchase as....”

Lee furrowed his brows, then bit his lips.

“I should have known,” he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” the justice said, “we thought you’d know by now that he was the anonymous donor.”

“Look, Mr. Chief Justice, when you handed it to me at that inauguration you said the donor thought I might not be opposed to accepting it to wear if it was for the office of the presidency. And that I agreed to that, bowed my head and everything. That office has changed. It’s in Sisemen’s custody now. Why involve me?”

“Legally, it was a gift to you. Personally. You said no words, you made no written statement that you accepted it on behalf of the office of the presidency. You simply let your mother put it on your finger and you acted all noble. The law considers it a personal gift to you making you its sole owner. And hence, named with Mrs. Applegate as recipients of stolen property. Nelson as well.”

“Now wait a minute....”

“It would be impossible for the auction house,” Mrs. Applegate said, to refund either you or Nelson its current market value which is five times what he paid for it.”

“Wait,” Joe said, “I thought once something was bought at an auction, the sale was final. And how come it’s worth so much more now?”

“Well,” the justice said, “that’s due to Nelson-Crane having worn it. He’s right up there with George as far as its value goes.”

“Oh good grief,” Lee muttered, rose and began to pace. “This is utterly ridiculous! And it sure as hell doesn’t seem legal since members of their family sold it to begin with way back then. What about that?”

“Yes, it was sold, more than a few times actually by its owners. But the codicil, well, there’s a strong case for the ring to remunerated for or be returned.”

“Just let them try, greedy vultures,” Joe said.

“Look,” Lee said, “I’m sorry if Mrs. Applegate’s auction house looses money regarding this lawsuit, and I’m pretty sure Harry won’t demand any money back, and I sure don’t have any cash for any legal settlement. Whatever happened to finders keepers?”

“It may still apply in US law after statutory procedures have been followed. ‘May’ being the operative word. Doesn’t always happen.”

“Will you speak to Admiral Nelson?” Mrs. Applegate asked, “Just in case it goes to court?”

“You realize we’re still at war and he’s on Seaview, somewhere down deep below? I might not be able to get through to him even if I tried.”
“I’m sure you’ll find away,” the justice said. “We’ll be in touch Mrs. Applegate.”

“Thank you your honor, Lee, Cmdr.,” she said as she left.

“Now, the real reason for your summons,” the justice said as he closed the door and returned to his seat and handed Lee a printout which Lee grimaced over and handed to Joe.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that the Justice Dept. went to great lengths to determine the ownership of the account of the email sent to the Washington Post. While we’ve discovered that you’re responsible for the email, Commander, despite your attempts to encrypt it, we believe the true culprit for casting suspicion on the surgeon general and the incumbent president is Mr. Nelson-Crane, or am I mistaken? But I doubt either of you would have libeled the surgeon general or the president without some kind of proof you cite as having, or was your claim wishful thinking? I want answers. Now.”

“I wasn’t wishful thinking,” Lee said.

“Then why not tell the Washington Post what it was?”

“Because the country doesn’t need it right now. I only wanted the rumor to put a fire under the surgeon general to say he made a mistake or something.”

“You’re lying,” the justice said. “I’ve seen that look before. Just what do you have?” “The surgeon general knew damn well what he was doing,” Joe said, “faking Lee’s MRI, him and the president and....”

“Enough, Joe,” Lee sighed. ‘If you must know, your honor, I used my prosthesis to record meetings between the surgeon general and Sisemen. Hid it in a potted plant in the Oval Office before Mom and I moved out. As you know, the eyeball’s probably at the bottom of sea now...but we did transfer the recording before we went on our last mosquito flight....”

“You spied on the Oval Office? You knew that was a felony?”

“We only wanted to find out the truth,” Joe said. “Even Seaview’s doctor thought the MRI was fishy and....”

“Doesn’t excuse what we, what I did, Joe,” Lee sighed, eyes downcast.

“Right now, gentlemen,” the justice said, “I’m more concerned about the president of the United States being in collusion with the surgeon general to falsify a patient’s medical report...how do I get this recording?”

Lee said nothing, sitting with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes still downcast.

“You realize that if you don’t hand it over, I could incarcerate you right now for contempt? I’m the chief justice of the United States.”

“Do your worst, your honor,” Lee said quietly. “We need to concentrate of winning the war right now. Corruption at Pennsylvania Avenue can wait.”

“I understand your concerns, however, I can still arrest you both for failure to turn over the evidence you have. Along with a heavy fine I know neither of you can afford.”

“Now wait a minute,” Lee said angrily,” if anyone going to be arrested it will be me, not Joe.”

“It’s okay, Lee,” Joe said. “I’ll be glad to join you in Leavenworth.”

Lee bit his lip, then grabbed a Post It note off the desk along with a pen and scratched something out, handing it to the justice.

“Government Surplus Yard? Video File cabinet, Glenn, Lee hard folder 007? What’s this other number?”

“The video chip is locked,” Lee said. “Only that code will unlock it. Nobody knows it but Joe and me. And now you.”

“Tell me, does that new eyeball of yours work the same way as the other one?”

“Well,” Lee said, “you’re wearing boxer shorts with little red hearts and puppies on them.”

“A present from my wife. All right, we’re done here. I’ll examine the recording before I decide what to do with you both. And the Oval Office. Meanwhile, don’t invade anyone’s privacy with your damn eyeball unless you get clearance from me. Go on, get out of here. Oh, wait,” he added pulling out a wad of cash and holding it out. “Buy yourselves a drink before or on your flight back to Cape Cod.”

“Thank you, your honor,” Joe said, taking the wad, and stood.

“One last thing,” the justice said. “If anyone asks, the summons was about the ring. Not a word about anything else, either of you, understood? I’ll get back to you later.”

“Yes, your honor,” both boys said almost in unison.

“Very well.’

“Perhaps we should stop the remote view now,” Admiral Johnson said as the chief justice walked with Lee and Joe out and to the elevator, a security guard waiting.

“Not yet,” Jiggs replied.

And so we watched and listened courtesy of Lee’s digital eyeball as the boys rode down the elevator, saying nothing, each leaning against the walls.

The lobby was crowded with the curious and the press, and despite the guard, it was difficult for the trio to make their way through the crowd toward the exit.

“What was the summons about?” someone asked.

Neither Lee nor Joe said anything.

“I’ll have to ask you folks to cease and desist,” the guard intervened.

“It’s a free country,” someone called out.

“Yeah,” another person said, “why were you summoned here, Mr. President? Had to be important.”

“Look,” Joe said, irritated, “He doesn’t owe you an explanation!”

“Easy,” Lee said. “It was a personal matter. I’d rather not discuss it. So let’s leave it at that, shall we? If you don’t mind, we really need to get back to the airport.”

But the questions didn’t stop, and the crowd surged around them as they wormed their way through the crowd, the exit, and toward the curb where a Justice Dept. sedan was waiting. With a police motorcycle escort in front and behind.

The car’s driver quickly got out and opened the back door. Once the boys were safely inside, they were driven away and we had an inside view, while police sirens and lights gave the car easy access through the busy roads to the airport.

“Okay, I guess we’re done being flies on the wall,” Jiggs said.

“Well this fly isn’t quite done spying,” I said. “Help yourself to a drink if you want. Lower right drawer under the bunk. Paper mouthwash cup in the head.”

“You do realize Seaview is still back in the Navy, don’t you?” Johnson asked.

“You know that, I know that, Jiggs knows that. But, Mr. Livet sure as hell doesn’t.”

“The boys are awfully quiet,” Jiggs said.

So were we as we watched, sometimes seeing nothing but black as Lee had closed his eyes. It wasn’t long before the car reached the airport terminal’s ’ drop off lane, more police waiting to personally escort Lee and Joe through the crowded terminal.

For a terrifying moment I wondered if Lee’s eyeball would cause the X-ray to beep, but before he passed though, he rather automatically removed his digital eyeball to run through the conveyor belt’s X-ray machine while Lee walked through the passenger X-ray scan. Free and clear, both, and Lee pulled out a sterile wipes package, removing one sheet to clean the eyeball before re inserting it back into his empty socket. A somewhat gruesome sight if one wasn’t used to it

As the two, and their police escort walked to the airline’s counter and got into line, several fellow passengers the area applauded.

“You’re both already signed in, Mr. President, Commander,” an airline employee with a clipboard said. “If you’ll follow me, you can board already.”

“We really don’t want to impose,” Lee said, embarrassed to be given special treatment.

“It’s all right, Mr. President,” a grandmotherly woman said, “we don’t mind. Do we folks?”

“’Not at all’s, and ‘fine by me’s echoed around the fellow passengers.

“The captain wants a chance to speak with you anyway,” the airline employee said, “pilot to pilot.”

Lee smiled sheepishly which endeared him to the crowd even more, as he and Joe were escorted toward the boarding gate and out of sight.

A knock at my cabin door interrupted our spying.

“Well, I’d better close shop,” Johnson said. “Would you like me to send you the remote code so you can keep watching or turn on Lee’s eyeball on when you wish?”

“If Lee finds out we spied on him without your supervision, he’ll have our hides,” I said, “thanks but better shut it down.”

Johnson fiddled with his keyboard and the screen went blank.

“Well, I’d better close. Bye, Harriman, Jiggs.”

“In,” I called out to whomever was knocking.

“Captain Morton wanted you to see the latest DOD notifications, sir,” Ski said handing the printout to me. “Things are looking up...well, sort of...still got some heavy skirmishes going on...but I bet it won’t be for long.”

“God willing,” I said. “Very well, Ski, thank you.”

“Sirs,” Ski said and departed.

“Looks like most of the action is over our midwest, London, Paris, and Frankfurt. The free world’s not out of the woods yet,” I sighed.

***

We’d been making good time and would probably be offshore of Panama City by evening.

“Excuse me, sir,” Riley said as he mopped the Observation Nose deck, careful of our feet, “you’re not really going to let Captain Morton take us through the canal tonight, are you?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked, confused.

“’Cause there’s a bigger chance of scratching the paint or denting her in the dark. The skip will be devastated and....”

“What’s the delay here, Riley?” Chip asked coming forward.

“He’s worried about scratching the paint,” Jiggs said.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Riley,” Chip grinned. “And it’s not as if we’ll be under our own power through the locks, remember. The mules will haul us into each lock without any problem.”

“Oh gawd! Their equipment’s busted so they gotta’ use mules?” Riley wailed.

“Rail cars,” I said. “In the olden days there were bone fide mules...I thought you were aboard last time Seaview went through the passage.”

“He was scrubbing the bilges, if I recall,” Chip said. “Now, finish up here then go get yourself some hot chocolate, settle your nerves. And remember, even great big cruise ships manage just fine. The only problem I see is making sure we’ve filled out all the paperwork correctly.”

“Skipper’s landed in Boston sir,” Sparks called out, “just an announcement, and he’s already transferred to a smaller commuter plane. They say he should be back home in about an hour.”

“Fine,” I said, “keep us posted.”

After Riley had finished up and departed, Jiggs chuckled.

“That youngster sure has some unbridled hero worship of Lee.”

“Speaking of Lee, I’m going to try to get a call in. Care to join me?”

“Hell no, I don’t want my ears burned off if you tell him what I think you’re going to tell him. I’ll just sit here and enjoy the bubbles.”

***

I only got Lee’s cell’s ‘voice mail is unavailable’. And I’d thought calls were available when in flight.

So, I decided to call Joe, in the hope Lee had just turned his cell off.

But Joe’s cell was unavailable as well.

My last option was to call Lee’s mother.

“Harriman? Is everything okay?” she asked as soon as she picked up.

“Fine, just fine...I just need you to have Lee call me when he gets home.”

“Of course...Harriman, do you know what the summons was about?”

“No, afraid not,” I lied. “Well, I’m sure you have a lot to do preparing for the lobster bake on Sunday.”

“Certainly wish you could join us.”

“Perhaps another time.”

“I understand from the news that Seaview’s going to be using the Panama Canal?”
“Yes, we’re almost there.”

“Well, I’ll pray for you not to have any accidents...Lee would be awfully upset....”

“The canal system’s been totally upgraded, and it’s impossible to scratch the paint. We won’t even be under our own power.”

“Oh.”

“Accidents are very rare now.”

“I see.”

“Well, don’t let Lee work too hard helping you to prepare for the lobster bake.”

“He’s only going to shuck corn on the cob and peel potatoes. I’d rather he just sit down and relax a bit. But, he’d be miserable doing nothing. Except for maybe eating hot buttered popcorn. We plan on that too.”

“Well, I’d better let you go. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, Harriman. You too.”

With that I ended my call and leaned back in my chair, craving that hot buttered popcorn, deciding to head to the Wardroom where bags of microwave popcorn were neatly stacked.

***

I’d decided on some coffee while I waited for the microwave to complete its job, while suddenly the klaxon rang out and we were in an emergency blow as my nostrils were assaulted with a distinct smell of something burning.

“Damage Control!” Chip’s voice rang out over the PA, “Where the hell’s the fire? Nothing shows on instruments!”

“Ah, Chip?” I asked through the mike, “false alarm. I...um...burnt the popcorn...did you hear me, Lad? I burnt the popcorn, the microwave bag kind....”

“I heard you.”

“Well, aren’t you going to stop the emergency blow? Kind of hard to hand on to the hand rails....”

“No, we might as well continue to the surface as we’re going to scrub the air.”

“I am sorry, Chip...you see, I’d just been on the phone with Mrs. Crane and she’d mention how Lee likes popcorn and well, it put me in the mood.”

“Excuse me, sir.” Cookie half walked half dragged himself from the ‘tween through’ to my side, “I can make you some. Without the microwave....”

“It won’t interfere with your schedule?”

“Well, maybe, but hey if thinking about the skipper got you in the mood for popcorn, we, then I’m in the mood to make some. For you and the entire crew...kind of our way to share with him...is he home then?”

“Not yet, but he’s on the second leg of his flight.”

“You want all the fixings, sir? You know we got powdered parmesan or cheddar cheese...”

“Er, no, thanks anyway. Just melted butter and salt.”

“Theatre style...yes sir...the way the skip likes it....”

“Make mine with Parmesan,” Chip’s voice came over as we felt Seaview fall down the surface after she’d broached it. “We’ll be up here awhile...I’ll be down to the Wardroom in minutes.”

“Aye, sir,” Cookie said. “I’ll be getting the popper set up right away.”

It was actually less than a minute before Chip arrived and every officer not on watch. All eagerly awaiting the popcorn. I supposed the crew’s mess had the same turnout. Anything to ‘share’, even remotely, one of their beloved skipper’s favorite munchies.

“Breaking news,” Sparks said over the PA, and we rushed over to the monitor....

There was a crowd at the little airport where Lee’s smaller connecting flight had just landed. It was raining and minus an umbrella, Lee, carrying a mini bottle of vodka and Joe, a full sized beer, were walking down the ramp to the tarmac, also deluged by questions from the press and public as they made their way towards the prefab terminal.

“....What was your summons about?” several personas asked at the same time.

“...None of your business,” Joe said, irritated.

“....Are you going to jail again, Mr. President?”

“...It wasn’t that kind of a summons,” Lee said, “excuse us,” he added waving toward the nearest of three cabs. Both boys were drenched by the time they entered the vehicle and were driven away.

“...We have some other breaking news from Washington,” one of the reporters under an umbrella was saying, “where, we’ve been informed by the White House press secretary that the surgeon general has turned in his resignation....”

The image changed to the West Wing’s crowded press room where pandemonium reigned.

“..I give up,” the press secretary said. “Read it all in the printout if you’d rather.”

Finally, silence in the ranks.

“...Very well. About a half hour ago, the surgeon general turned in his resignation, effective immediately, which was accepted by the president who has not yet assigned a replacement....”

“...Is there any truth to the rumors that he made a mistake or was negligent in reading President Nelson-Crane’s MRI? It’s said that the MRI is identical to a years old textbook for MRI technicians and....”

“...None of the rumors have been proven and no reason has as of yet been given to us,” the secretary said.

“...Will he still be in the army?”

“...No, he’s retiring from the army as well. That’s all.”

With that the secretary left the podium, questions still following until the newscast returned to Cape Cod.

“Somebody’s been busy,” I couldn’t help muttering to myself.

“Sir?” Chip asked, munching on his second bowl of popcorn.

“Sorry, private joke.”

The beach access road was crowded with locals, the curious, and the press, most protected by umbrellas. A beach buggy, fitted with plastic rain flaps and makeshift roof was waiting. We could barely see Mrs. C. in the rear, and the driver had the wipers on full.

The cab drove up and Lee, still holding his little bottle of vodka, and Joe, minus his beer, dashed out and were greeted with friendly applause and back slapping. Then the boys saw the buggy and, slid onto the seats, Joe in front with the driver, and Lee in back with his mother. Nobody seemed to notice the raised eyebrow Mrs. C. gave her son regarding his bottle as he gave her a little peck on the cheek before the dune buggy drove down to the beach and to Mrs. C.’s cottage, the friends and neighbors following, some on foot, some in their own dune buggies, the press remaining behind with unauthorized (checked by police) persons.

“Think he’s in for it?” Jiggs asked me. “About the booze?”

“Oh, he’s in for it all right,” I said and with Jiggs returned to my cabin waiting for Mrs. C. to give Lee my message.

It felt like a long wait as I paced back and forth before Sparks announced over the PA that I had a secure videophone call from the skipper. But in reality it was barely five minutes before my videophone came to life and I let it scan my retina. Jiggs excused himself though I had told him he could be in on the call.

Lee, his hair and clothes still soggy, was trying to make his mother stop toweling his hair, while Winston was still running around his feet and Sweetie was pawing the screen.

“Mom,” Lee whined. “I’ll dry off soon enough, I promise. Now, let me speak with Harry.”

“Don’t keep him too long, Harriman,” she said, taking the towel with her as she left and closed the door behind her.

“Okay, I’m all yours,” Lee told me.

“So, what was the summons about?”

“You really have to ask?”

“You hardly told me anything about....things.”

“The surgeon general’s MRI was from an old textbook transparency. He’d planned it with Sisemen before he visited me at Walter Reed. My eyeball did some spying and recorded a couple of meetings they’d had...somehow the chief justice put two and two together regarding Joe’s anonymous email citing rumors with sources, and I had to admit what I’d done and where the recording was transferred to. End of story. The chief justice must have made kind of deal with the surgeon general and it looks like he’s accommodated me in keeping the whole truth quiet.”

“Can I see the recording?”

“You’ll have to go through the chief justice. Kind of made a promise not to say anything, which I’ve just broken.”

“Very well, I’ll keep quiet too...will your committing a felony keep the justice from allowing you back in office should the AMA deem you mentally fit? After they check all the MRI’s you’ve had?”

“He only said he’d let me know what he was going to do with me. Hasn’t called me yet. I may still end up in Leavenworth.”

“I’m not sure Leavenworth is still an active federal prison.”

“Joe offered to serve time with me. I won’t let him, of course, if it comes to that.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed it won’t come to that.”

“Thanks.”

“How was your flight? I noticed your little bottle of vodka.”

“You and Mom both...”

“You really do have to watch it Lee. You’ve been imbibing more than ever used to aboard Seaview.”

“Well, the White House will do that to you...among other things...I’m not sure I want to go back. Only took it on out of duty...so when will you reach the canal?”

“Wee hours tonight. Jiggs and I are going to toast it later. Marvel of engineering.”

“I’ll save the rest of the vodka for it. Just let me know when I can join you.”

“Fine...Lee, I do have to ask, what about your meds?”

“Don’t worry,” he said with cherubic innocence. “Been palming them.”

“Not sure that was a good thing, son.”

“Yeah, had grief from Joe too.”

“Never get rid of him, Lee. He’s had your back more times than I can count.”

“I know,” Lee grinned sheepishly, “you too.”

“Well, I’ll let you go...see you tonight.”

“I’ll turn put the videophone on stand by tonight waiting for your call. Has a loud beep like a smoke alarm. I’ll hear it even if I’m outside or in the bathtub.”

I laughed as he did.

“Bye Harry.”

“Take care, son,” I replied and ended the call.

~***~

Chapter Twenty Nine