My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

~In God We Trust~

30

I overslept this morning and was late for the second seating of breakfast. A mess specialist brought me a plate of scrambled egg which Cookie had saved for me.

Since we were still underway through the canal system, having progressed through the lake, several officers were using the Wardroom for cards and board games, while the monitor’s split screens were tuned to the deck cams and to one news broadcast. Nothing like being aware of the world around you. This time the selected broadcaster was from across the pond, the good old reliable BBC.

“...And,” the anchor was saying, “the mechanism of Big Ben will be shut down temporarily for some maintenance work. Already there have been complaints, including a member of the royal family saying that it’s just not London without Big Ben’s chimes.

“...In world news, it’s been reported that former US President Nelson-Crane will be busy today peeling potatoes and will be shucking corncobs tomorrow for the lobster bake to be hosted by his mother, friends, and neighbors.

“...Why bother with corn in the husks, Commander Jackson?” a video showed him being asked as he loaded some bags of groceries into his parked dune buggy in front of a convenience store.

“...Have no idea,” he replied, “But Mrs. Crane did mention that shucking your corncobs yourself makes it taste better.”

“...Will you be helping the former president with the Crane’s bushel of corncobs?”

“...Hey, Lee, hurry up!” Joe turned to yell through the store’s open door, “The press has a question for you!”

“...Keep your pants on, Joe,” Lee’s voice preceded him, soon to be followed by him emerging, carrying three large handled bags full of whatever, the tops of some chocolate vanilla cream cupcakes, a box of doughnuts, and a bag of barbeque potato chips peeking out from two of them.

“...Morning,” Lee said toward the press as he placed his bags next to Joe’s. “You had a question?”

“...They want to know if I’ll be sharing shucking duty with you.”

“...What do you think?” Lee answered Joe with a sheepish grin. “Of course it would have to pass inspection.”

“...Yours?”

“...Hell no. Mom’s.”

Both laughed, then, Lee hopped into the dune buggy, Joe at the wheel and the two errand boys drove off.

“...A short time later,” the image reverted to the anchor, “once the groceries had been deposited in Mrs. Crane’s home, you can see from a telephoto lens that the former president and the commander enjoyed a game of Frisbee on the beach with Winston, and tossed a beach ball about with some of the neighbors, though you can see that Nelson-Crane’s motor skills are somewhat stiff from his recent injuries.

“...In related news, the Seaview has almost completed her journey from the Pacific to the Atlantic where she will begin her trip up the coast to Norfolk, Virginia, to resupply herself with US Navy armament.

“...Meanwhile, back here in London, we take you live inside the workings of Big Ben....”

With that change of topic, most of the men in the Wardroom resumed their card and board games.

“There you are,” Jiggs said entering. “Morton’s still topside, only came down a few times to answer the call of nature and get a bite...he’s going to be totally exhausted by the time we’re done with this trip.”

“Lee was just on TV. Recorded, of course. Seems to be in a good mood...”

Just then Chip arrived, and headed to the coffee pot.

“Morning, sir. We’re still in the first of the Gatun Locks. Been delayed by a minor problem with one of the mules. O’Brien’s keeping an eye on things.”

“Did you see the latest newscast of Lee?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Chip said with a grin. “I sure you use some of those chocolate cupcakes.”

“Captain?” Riley’s voice came over the PA. “There looks like a bumper crop of fish trapped in the lock with us. Don’t suppose, like, we can go fishing? Honor the skipper’s lobster bake with some of them? Closest we got to fresh seafood. If fishing from the deck’s allowed, that is.”

“Sparks?” Chip said into the wall mike, as he yawned, “contact the gate masters. Ask if some of our crew can get in some fishing.”

“Right away, sir.”

In minutes Sparks replied.

“They can only give us permission if Seaview has a fishing license.”

“Darn,” we could hear Riley’s moan.

“Well, Sparks,” Chip said, “contact Mr. Montalban to see if we can get that license right now.”

“Aye, sir.”

“You do realize,” Jiggs told Chip, “there’s probably a fee if they allow such things.”

“How much could it be?” Chip replied sarcastically.

“Captain?” Sparks came over the PA. “The license fee is $150. But that’s usually for bone fide fishing boats. Mr. Montalban wants you to know he’s making an exception to allow if for us due to us being official US Navy business...and that we’re starving for some fresh food.”

“How does he know what’s in our galley or not?” Chip asked.

“Er...Riley kinda’ mentioned it while I spoke with him.”

“Very well,” I said, “tell Montalban that I’ll spring for the license so he won’t have to bother the navy with it. He’ll need to contact Drew Ames at the institute.”

“Aye sir. Oh, Mr. Montalban says if we catch any Tarpon to toss them back. Says their edible but taste like shit, his words sir. Peacock Bass is good. Snook is only good if it’s cooked without the skin or it tastes like soap. He also warns us not to fall overboard.”

“Understood,” Chip replied. “O’Brien, we’re going fishing.”

“Er, what do we use for fishing poles? We have a couple of nets, but...”

“Broom handles, string, and paperclips,” I said. “Yes, it works. Lee tried it out on the Nautilus...,

“Aye, aye, sir!” Riley’s said, excited.

“Er, Admiral,” Chip asked. “How are we going to know the kinds of fish Montalban mentioned?”

“Just net and use the makeshift fishing poles. First come first serve regarding our fishermen. Riley’s already on the list. Have some water filled buckets to place the fish into to keep them alive. I’ll be up soon to identify them for the cooking pot or to toss them back into Davy Jone’s Locker.”

Chip grabbed a snack sized bag of potato chips as he finished his coffee and retreated to the Control Room. It wasn’t long before Seaview moving again, the mules apparently having been repaired.

Jiggs and I soon headed topside to identify the fish the men were catching. The Tarpon were of course, duly returned to the water except for a few I decided to keep and check for pollution levels. That should make the press happy. Patterson had also returned to the deck to take stills and videos. I knew as no doubt the men would be taking pictures and emailing their families and friends about the fishing expedition. As for the Peacock Bass and Snook, they were summarily placed in ice filled coolers to become supper for tomorrow. As for any fish I couldn’t identify, they too found themselves in the water filled specimen for me to examine in the lab.

***

By the time we’d entered the second lock of this side of the canal, Cookie deemed we had more fish than we really needed and asked permission to clean and gut them topside. Another call to the gatekeepers to make sure we wouldn’t be breaking any rules.

While we waited for a response, Sparks reported more breaking news and the monitors came back to life....

“...Washington is abuzz as the surgeon general is reported to have taken his own life about ten minutes ago, a bullet to his head. Police forensics is investigating. Reactions are varied....”

“...Granted,” a senator said on the steps of the capitol building, “he’s been under some pressure due to widespread rumors of malfeasance against former President Nelson-Crane, totally unfounded, of course. I guess he was simply overwhelmed.”

“...Well,” a middle aged woman visiting the Lincoln Memorial was next, “I say good riddance to him, the way he either plotted against or mishandled the Nelson-Crane case....”

“Admiral Nelson?” Sparks called out, “call from the skipper. Videophone. Secured.”

“Pipe it through to my cabin,” I hollered back. “C’mon Jiggs,” I said leaving the ongoing broadcast to play on without my attention.

***

Retina scans completed, my videophone’s screen unscrambled and I found myself face to face with Joe, while Lee was pacing behind him, cellphone to his ear. We couldn’t hear what he was saying while Sweetie lay happily on his shoulder and Winston keeping pace with him.

“You heard?” Joe asked, “about the surgeon general?”

“Yes,” Jiggs said, “I just can’t believe his cowardice.”

Lee finished his call and came over, handing Joe the cat, and sitting down in front of his screen.

“Just spoke with McGee. NCIS had some pull with the police even though the surgeon general’s army.”

I didn’t correct the present tense.

“They didn’t find any suicide note, but,” he hesitated, “there was a crumpled piece of paper in his left hand...from the AMA. Oh, nothing to absolve me of brain damage, but it was a notice of temporary suspension of the surgeon general from the AMA pending further investigation into possible malpractice. Apparently they hadn’t connected the ‘training’ MRI in my file as a plot, but were upset that he somehow misplaced or misfiled my MRI, assuming he used the training one to compare them.”

“So, they just think he was negligent,” I said.

“Yes...and Harry, I think we’d better let them keep thinking that.”

“But the nation needs the truth!” Jiggs said.

“The nation doesn’t need the truth right now, perhaps never....”

“The reporters are here now, Lee,” Mrs. Crane said entering. “I really wish you’d asked me if they could come into the house. They and their cameras and microphones are wearing holes in the carpet.”

“Sorry, Mom. Tell them I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Reporters?” I asked as Mrs. C. departed closing the door behind her.

“I’ve arranged to make a statement...you’re not going to like it,” he added eyes downcast. Both of them. This new prosthesis did indeed almost look real.

“Lee, hurry up!” Mrs. C. hollered through the closed door. “And comb your hair!”

“Just...”Lee hesitated as he looked at us with his ‘little boy lost’ look, “just trust me that I’m doing the right thing?”

“Always, son,” I said. “Always. I’ll have your back.”

“So will I,” Jiggs said.

Lee gave us a nod and a slight grin, as he rose. “I’ll be back,” he added, leaving the videophone on, which Joe tuned to CNN.

“...We’re here at Mrs. Crane’s house,” the CNN reporter was saying from the crowded living room, as Lee entered, not having combed his hair, “where former President Nelson-Crane, or ‘Just Call Me Lee’, as he’s also known, wishes to make a statement regarding the surgeon general....”

“...Afternoon, “Lee said, remaining standing, Winston at his feet, Sweetie investigating the camera and microphone cables. “By now you’ve heard of the tragic death of the surgeon general. I’d like to offer my sympathies to his family, friends, and colleagues for his loss. While there was no love lost between us, whatever compelled him to take his life, speculation is useless at this point. I would like to ask all of you, that we, as a nation, will not give credence to any of the wild rumors that have been running rampant. If they were valid, I’m pretty sure I, of all people, would have said something. Let the poor man rest in peace, and give his family the support they deserve. That’s all I have to say. Thank you.”

Despite the press hounding him with questions, Lee shook his head ‘no’, picked up his cat, and returned, Winston at his feet, toward the hallway that would take him back to his bedroom.

“...Mrs. Crane?” one of the reporters asked, “Do you have anything to say about the situation?”

“...I can’t say I’m very sympathetic. The surgeon general gave Lee hell at times. But perhaps I’m not as good a Christian as Lee is.”

“...How did he react when he first learned the news?”

“...Shock, disbelief...then he was on the phone until you all got here.”

“...Who was he on the phone with?”

“...No idea.”

“...Will you still be sponsoring the community Lobster bake tomorrow?”

“...I’m not sure...probably, none of us actually owe the surgeon general anything, though postponing the bake might be a way to show his family support. It will be a community decision to continue or postpone the bake.”

“...Have the lobsters already been harvested?”

“...Most of them. Waiting in bathtubs and buckets, like the clams and mussels. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some cookies in the oven....”

While the reporters gave their polite goodbye’s and the broadcast ended, Lee returned to his videophone.

“So,” Lee said, putting the cat on his desk to paw at my image happily, “I heard that the crew had quite a haul of fish to help celebrate the lobster bake tomorrow. Drew is furious with the additional expense even though it’s only $150. Not much as far as accounting is concerned. Poor man just doesn’t understand the need to maintain morale. Sparks sent me an email loaded with some of Pat’s pictures and a few videos...you should put them on NIMR’s visitor’s website.” Then he hesitated, “Harry, now don’t get upset...I’ve been getting more death threats...don’t tell Mom. Joe?”

Joe came over with a photocopy of a home-made threat made with cut out magazine and newspaper letters, and began to read...

“’Get ready to die. You and your paper father.’ There’s only one person I know who regularly calls our relationship a ‘paper’ one.”

“But Ronald’s blog was taken down, wasn’t it? His organization folded. And how did he mange to mail the threat to you.”

“Just because he’s in jail doesn’t mean he can’t mail a letter or this...”

“Didn’t security check it?”

“Invasion of privacy.”

“Damn.”

“The FBI’s working on it, like it works on all of them...and we thought I was popular...”

“Er, Lee, I can’t see you.”

“Sorry,” he said, picking up the cat, “Mom?” he called out, and she arrived a few minutes later. “Can you occupy Sweetie for awhile? She’s in the way.”

“Well I hope you don’t spend too long talking about Seaview this time,” she said, taking Sweetie out of the room.

“Tell the men I appreciate them trying to celebrate our lobster fest, if we still have it, with me in spirit and....”

“Lee?” Mrs. C. said, entering without the cat, “A Budweiser truck is at the access road. The driver told the police he’s delivering an order! What have you done? You can’t afford it, and you know you’re not supposed to have any alcohol while you’re on meds and...Joseph, what’s that smirk? Fess up! Did you order booze for tomorrow or not?”

“Er...yes,” he said.

“No, he didn’t,” Lee sighed. “I did. What’s a lobster bake without beer? I got the company to settle accounts with me later on.”

“Hey, Lee!” a voice called out. “Hurry up! The Bud truck can’t park on the access road forever. You gotta’ sign for the shipment! We’re getting thirsty here!”

“The beer’s for tomorrow and you know it!” Joe called out. “Besides, Lee’s mom’s scolding him!”

“Have a heart Mrs. Crane! He’s been through enough!”

“You swear to me,” she told Lee, “on all that’s holy, that you’ll behave? That you won’t have one drop of that damn beer, or anything else like it while you’re here?”

Lee took both of her hands in his. “On all that’s holy.”

“I’m not quite sure I believe you. All right. That promise is between you and God and if you want to stay on his good side, you won’t break that promise. All right, go sign for the damn beer.”

“Sorry, Harry, duty calls,” Lee told me, “We’ll talk more later about...things. And perhaps we can have a phone cam connection if we do have that the lobster bake.”

“Count on it. How long will it take for the community to decide?”

“If I know our neighbors no way in hell will they cancel or postpone. Have to go before Mom starts stomping her feet.”

With that he grinned, then I saw a slight smirk with Joe before he shut down.

“Am I mistaken,” Jiggs asked, “or are they up to something?”

“Sure looks like it.”

The cabin’s monitor was still broadcasting.

“...We see Nelson-Crane and Jackson leaving the house and walking down to the beach access road, several neighbors with them, dragging some dolly’s, even rusted old children’s wagons with them.”

Lee and Joe soon arrived and walked the short distance to the parked 18 wheeler and met the driver.

“...I got this here invoice for you to sign, Mr. President.”

“...Just call him Lee!” the group shouted, laughing. Lee certainly had the community of friends and neighbors well trained.

“...Well, just for now,” the driver said, handing Lee the invoice which Lee signed, “I still expect to be calling you Mr. President again. The sooner the better.”

Applause.

“...Thanks,” Lee grinned, “but nothing certain yet.”

“...Well, me and mine will be praying for you to get back to where you belong,” the driver said as he opened the truck’s storage sections and began to unload the specified shipment of the company’s varieties of beers. Along with bags of ice.

The crowd wouldn’t let Lee or even Joe pick anything up, and stacked the crates on their various dolly’s and wagons themselves. The boys shook the driver’s hand, and headed back down the beach, escorted by the community and tomorrow’s libations.

Just then Cookie paged me to help him with an ‘executive decision’ which turned out to be how I’d like my fish prepared for tomorrow. Boiled, baked, grilled, fried....”

In the end I simply told him to pick what the skipper would like if he were here,

just so the Snook wasn’t cooked with its skin on...sure didn’t want to eat something that tasted like soap.

***

I returned to the Control Room to see a top level meeting going on between Chip, O’Brien, and Sharkey.

“Glad you’re back, Harriman,” Jiggs said. “Morton’s not sure which route he wants us to take once we’re out of the canal. Sailing between Mexico and Cuba or between Cuba and Haiti, and then skirt Florida, both routes are almost the same in nautical miles.”

“Any preference, Lad?” I asked Chip, after all, he was the captain.

“I’d like to check on the seasonal currents in both areas...might get a boost from one of them to get us to Norfolk faster.”

“We’re entering the next lock,” Kowalski interrupted over the PA. He had the deck watch from the Conning Tower and like his shipmates just wanted us to get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak. Most of the crew that had first opted to stay on deck to observe our transit were below again finding our trip more boring than they’d ever imagined it would be.

“The president’s going to make a speech,” Sparks called out and monitors clicked on to the crowded West Wing’s Press Office.

Within moments, the leader of the free world strode in and took his place at the podium, a secret service agent on one side and a Navy admiral on the other.

“...I would like to give our nation’s condolences to our late surgeon general’s family, friends, and colleagues. The police investigation has just declared that at no time did anyone appear to have an indication of his intentions, and that his decision to take his life was almost certainly a spur of the moment decision.

“...The First Lady and I, again, offer our sincere condolences....I have assigned a temporary replacement, Admiral Alvin Beekman to the post of surgeon general. He is a noted surgeon with over twenty five years of medical and army service. Admiral?”

“...Thank you Mr. President. I would assure the nation that I’ll do my best to replace the late surgeon general’s job, but I cannot or could I ever replace the man. My condolences to all who knew and loved him.”

“...I would like to add,” the president retook the podium, “that I have been in touch with members of the People’s Republic Alliance’s upper echelon, and hope we may come to some kind of cease fire and end hostilities.” With that he left though followed by questions.

“...Even if there is a cease fire, will you issue sanctions against them for the damage and loss of life they caused?”

“...What do you think of Admiral Nelson’s nomination for a Nobel prize?”

“...Is it true the late surgeon general was found with a censure and suspension of his medical license from the AMA for misplacing or faking Nelson-Crane’s first MRI?”

The president returned to the podium.

“...Sanctions? Well, I don’t know. Right now we just want to get this damn war over.

As for Admiral Nelson’s nomination for a Nobel prize regarding his anti-radiation formula, I agree it’s well deserved. Now, regarding the AMA, yes, they officially censured and temporarily suspended the surgeon general’s medical license pending further investigation regarding Nelson-Crane’s MRI. I’ve also been informed that using textbook transparencies for comparisons of MRI’s is such is common practice. I’m sure the original MRI was somehow misplaced or misfiled. I don’t believe for one moment that the surgeon general was up to no good. I believe he simply made a mistake. All of the patient files at Walter Reed, hard and digital copies, are being explored for Nelson-Crane’s MRI. Files are even being pulled away from the walls, in case his transparency slipped behind the wall or under the file cabinets.” “...Have you been invited to the lobster bake that Mrs. Crane and her neighbors will be hosting tomorrow?”

Gasps.

“...I’m probably the last person they’d like to see there,” Sisemen said. “Nelson-Crane and I parted on bad terms.”

“...Why haven’t you reinstated Nelson-Crane and Joseph Jackson back into the Navy Reserve? Surely both proved their patriotism and nettle and...”
“...I can hardly reinstate Nelson-Crane with a still presumed disability. And everyone knows he depends on Jackson for support. Also it’s best for the country if both are no longer in the reserves.”

“...Both seem fine to me!” someone called out.

Applause.

“...Nelson-Crane has to be proven free of brain damage for both the reserves and the presidency should Amendment 25 be reinstated as far as his return to office is concerned.”

“...If the AMA proves his most recent MRI’s don’t indicate brain damage, then you’ll reinstate the amendment and sign the office back over to him?

“...Hell no! Any man who claims he saw and spoke to unborn infants doesn’t have the cognitive ability the office of the presidency requires, no matter if an MRI doesn’t indicate brain damage. ”

“...You don’t believe in the paranormal, then?”

“...Do I look like an idiot?”

“...You don’t believe in God, then? Miracles? The unexplainable?”

“...My personal beliefs are my own business, not the country’s.”

“...They are when you use them to prevent Nelson-Crane from resuming office, or returning to the Navy Reserve.”

“...We can argue the point after the AMA’s report on the new MRI. Now, I really have to get back to the business of running the country,”

With that he left and the screen cleared, followed by a new one Sparks piped through.

“...We don’t have Seaview in our sights yet,” a reporter was saying from one of the observation posts along the canal. “She’s almost at the entrance to the third and last of the Gatun Locks in the Panama Canal. We do know some of the sub’s crew went fishing from the sub’s deck, and that those fish that Admiral Nelson won’t be studying for pollutants, will be for Sunday dinner. The Nelson Institute has stated that Seaview purchased a $150 fishing license in order to collect tomorrow’s supper.

These pictures, and videos taken aboard show a preponderance of Rainbow Bass. Two of the makeshift fishing poles, hooks made of bent paper clips and two large specimen nets brought in over 200 fish from inside one of the locks.”

The image changed to an anchor desk, but we still didn’t know which network’s.

“...Meanwhile, on Sandy Crab Lane in Cape Cod, Massachusetts,” the anchor was saying as one of their news vans telephoto lens took over, “we can see several areas of beach being prepped with ditches and charcoal for tomorrow’s lobster bake along with some kiddie pools which we’re told are for ice to keep several bottles of beer cold.

“...There’s been some debate as to what Nelson-Crane will have to quench his thirst, as due to medications his choices are limited. “...There are various ways a New England lobster bake is prepared. Sometimes everything is simply dumped into boiling water, the longest cooking first, to which more items are added, Lobster and other shellfish such as clams added last.

“...Sometimes the foodstuffs are simply grilled and added to the drained shellfish on newspaper lined tables. Of course there’s no way to know yet just who’s cooking what or how...but be sure we’ll bring you up close and personal video’s of tomorrow’s festivities. And now in other news....”

“Good thing they didn’t mention Lee being scolded by his mother for ordering the beer,” Jiggs muttered.

“What?” Riley asked from his present station at radar.

“A miscommunication, Lad,” I said to sooth his ruffled feathers. “At first his mother thought he’d ordered the beer for everyone including himself. But it was all cleared up. He knows better than to mix alcohol with meds.”

“Like that’s a relief, I mean, like I sure wouldn’t want to be chewed out by my mom.”

“Excuse me, Admiral Nelson,” Cookie asked as he climbed down the spiral ladder, “but I need to know what you’d prefer with the fish tomorrow, stewed tomatoes or corn. The tomatoes are canned like the corn. I can scallop them both, you know with crushed crackers and croutons....”

“I think it should be whichever is simplest to prepare,” I said.

“But...” Riley began then stopped himself.

“Go on, Lad,” I told him, “what did you want to say?”

“Well, I think I remember the skipper telling Miss Angie how his mom put crackers into both...and how much he liked them that way.”

“Then I think I’ll prepare them that way. By the way, it’s soup and sandwiches tonight...make ‘em yourself kind of sandwiches. Soup’ll be canned chicken noodle, the red and white canned kind.”

Ski groaned.

“Hey,” Riley said,” that’s the skipper’s favorite. Show, like, a little support.”

“He’s thousands of miles away from the Wardroom!”

“Yeah, well, it’s the spirit of the thing isn’t it? The fish, the scalloped corn and tomatoes...”

“I don’t have a problem with us having our own kind of seafood bake tomorrow, but cheech, there are better soups in the galley for tonight, aren’t there?”

“Tell you what,” Cookie said, “I’ll lay out a packet of the dry instant and hot water for you.”

“That’s even worse! What about that nice Italian kind with the pasta in it?”

“Kowalski,” I intervened. “We eat what Cookie and his mess specialists prepare for us, understood?”

“Aye, sir.”

Just then Sharkey climbed down from the Conning Tower.

“Man, I can hardly wait till we’re out of here. Oh, not that the canal’s not a feat of engineering you gotta’ admire. It’s just so damn boring! I want to sleep for a week once we’re through it. Well, I’m going to the head. I don’t suppose anyone would like to join the captain in the Conning Tower until I get back? Kind of lonely up there with nothing to do but log distance travelled and position, or look at the mule and a few men stripped down to their shorts getting some sun.”

“I could use some fresh air,” I said and headed to the ladder. “Besides the captain and I need to discuss something.”

Jiggs, who’d been about to join me, got the message and stayed behind.

***

It was making for a windy day as I leaned against the Conning Tower’s coaming , Chip marking the special log he was keeping for the passage. Dark circles were under his eyes and he couldn’t help yawning.

“Why don’t you take a break. I’m sure I can handle things and....”
“Of course you can handle things!” he said, angrily, “We’re not really doing anything but watch.”

“Okay, what’s got you so riled?”

“It’s nothing sir...just tired.”

“No, it’s more than that. Out with it...is it about Lee?”

“He used to confide in me...no matter what he said in that news conference, he knows something...something that triggered the surgeon general to end it all. Lee knows I’d never blab about whatever it was...has he lost all confidence in me?”

“Of course he hasn’t!”

“Do you know?”

Just then Sharkey returned saving me from lying to Seaview’s captain.

“Sharkey, you have the conn, such as it is.”

With that Chip headed down, leaving a knot in my gut.

“Sharkey?” I asked, “I’ll take the conn. I need to make a private call. This is as good a place as any.”

“Yes sir,” he said, and headed down, closing the hatch behind him.

I paged Sparks to put an ‘urgent secure’ personal call into Lee’s cell phone and to pipe it into the Conning Tower’s.

“What’s the problem, sir?” Joe answered via Lee’s phone cam after a moment.

“Where’s Lee?” I asked.

“He’s walking the dog, sir.”

“Damn. Have him call me asap, personal, secure.”

“Yes sir...anything I can help you with?”

“No, afraid not...Nelson out.”

I had to wonder just how far down the beach Lee was at the moment. And how fast Joe would be running after him with the phone.

While I waited some of the men enjoying the sunshine on deck suddenly got up in a hurry and began to wave and make cat calls to some bikini clad girls dotting the canal’s concrete observation decks. There was no need to translate the girl’s responses, despite their various languages.

Just then Chip returned, his anger reined in.

“You took the conn...if you were that desperate for the job you could have simply taken it from me and....”

“Admiral Nelson?” Sparks called out via the Conning Tower’s audio, “President Nelson-Crane for you. One to one. Secure.”

“This is about me, isn’t it?” Chip demanded of me, “You called him, didn’t you?”

“Pipe it up,” I told Sparks and our mini videophone turned on.

“What’s wrong?” Lee panted from his phone’s viewer.

“Chip wants to speak with you,” I said, “I’m going below.”

“I didn’t ask you to call Lee...”

“Actually I wanted to speak with him, but I think it’s more important right now that you do. About what you were discussing a moment ago...go ahead boys.”

Whether or not Chip would discuss his feelings of being ignored by Lee was up to him.

I stopped by the plot table where Sharkey was checking Ski’s figures and initialing them.

“Sharkey!” Chip’s voice suddenly rang out over the PA. “Get up here. You have the conn!” He’d barely finished speaking when he practically jumped down the ladder.

“You,” he said pointing to me, “with me. Now.”

Jiggs raised his eyebrows and was about to reprimand a junior officer from ordering me about like that, but I shook my head no and followed Chip aft.

Chip said nothing until we’d both entered his cabin and he’d closed the door.

“Did you or did you not, tell Lee I was pissed off with him?”

“No!”

“Oh...well he is now...wants to know what I want to speak with him about just like you told him I wanted to, which I don’t! Had to put him on hold. Damn it, sir! If Lee thought something was too secret to discuss with me, that’s his business, not yours!”

Then he clicked his videophone on to the correct frequency while scanning his retina.

“You too,” he ordered me

“Chip? Harry?” Lee’s voice asked. “What the devil’s going on?”

“He ‘thinks’,” Chip said, “that my feelings were hurt because you know something about the surgeon general that didn’t share with me. I could tell from that speech of yours. Hell, anyone who knows you could tell you were hiding something. Look, I understand you have to keep things quiet, even from me, if there is something you need to keep quiet....”

Lee lowered his eyes.

“Actually, I do know something...so does the chief justice...but it should never have gone far enough for the surgeon general to snap once he...once he found out about...things.”

Lee paused, then looked directly and Chip and I.

“He and the president president colluded to prevent my returning to office...proof positive of their plans to fake my MRI. A recording from a spy cam I put in the Oval Office...my old prosthesis’s.... the chief justice has the recording and must have said something, maybe showed him the recording...I don’t know if the president’s is aware of it yet. My God, I only wanted the surgeon general to make up a story about a mistake or something, not to kill himself.”

“If you spied on the Oval Office,” Chip began.

“I’m guilty of a felony, yes,” Lee interrupted. “I knew they were up to something and wanted to find out...pretty stupid of me, huh.”

“My God, Lee. They’re more guilty of doing something wrong than you! Felony, my ass! Will the chief justice have the president impeached? Arrested?”

“I asked him not to...something like that at a time like this? We have to think about the country. As for me, I’m sure there are plenty of things the justice can arrest me for equal to a felony...and its punishments....”

“Did he suggest anything?” I asked, trying my hardest to look as surprised about things as Chip.

“No, my actions seem to have passed his mind. So far, anyway.”

“I’m sorry I blew off some steam to the admiral earlier about you not trusting to keep me in the loop, so to speak...awful selfish of me...share your deepest darkest secrets with me or not, as you see fit. I don’t mind. I’m yours to command...Does Joe know?”

“Yeah, equal partners in Operation Eye Spy.”

“Sweetheart?” Lee’s mother interrupted, “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you were on the videophone...hurry it up though. Some of the boys have already downed a fair amount of the beer for the lobster bake tomorrow. They won’t listen to Joseph even when he threatened them with you....”

“Am I that scary?”

“Well, darling, a career naval officer with only God knows how many medals and things. A US President drafted by congress, more than once. Almost assassinated, in the middle of an MRI controversy, savior of the Statue of Liberty, protector of our little town from rogue enemy aircraft, and then there was Ronald Nelson’s attempt on your life and that bad guy in Paris and...I don’t have enough fingers to count all the times my brave boy had to fight back from the brink of death and God and Harriman only know how many times you got yourself into trouble aboard Seaview and....”

“Okay, okay, I get the point, Mom.”

“The thing is, dear, you’re a bona fide hero and your old friends and all of our neighbors know it. One word from you and they’ll behave. They respect you too much not to, and then there’s that Scotsman who still keeps saying you’re anointed form on high...yes, damn it, you’re scary. Nobody wants to be struck down by a lightning bolt from Heaven if anyone hurts you or denies what you told them...”

“Cheech, Mom. I can’t walk on water, you know.”

“No, sweetheart. But you’ve come damn close to it...Harriman, Chipee, it must be exciting sailing Seaview through the Panama Canal.”

“It’s quite an experience, Mrs. C.” Chip said, “A bit boring at times though.”

“Well don’t spend too long talking shop with him.

We did hear her mutter a bit about Lee needing to pick up some soiled socks strewn all over the floor before she left and shut the door.

“Any new death threats?” I asked.

“What’s that?” Chip asked, aghast.

“No more than usual,” Lee said calmly. “See you all tomorrow from the lobster fest via the cellphone cam.”

“We’ll be with you in spirit, at least,” Chip said. “And Cookie’s fixing Seaview’s catch in honor of it.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. Well, take care of my boat, and her gallant crew. Got to go. Crane’s house of torture out,” he laughed.

“Seaview out,” Chip responded and ended the call. “He sounded tired to me.”

“I’m sure he is.”

***

Fixing one’s own sandwich can be a complicated ordeal, but I managed. Ham, lettuce, tomato with mayo on rye toast.

Jiggs had tuna. And Chip had peanut butter and jelly.

I had to wonder what Lee’s mother was fixing him for supper, if she was. I doubted if Lee had an appetite after today’s news. Did I dare call just to find out if he was eating anything?

“Breaking news,” Sparks relayed over the PA and the monitor switched from the deck cams to four split screens. All of the new ones seemed to be from Washington...

“...The president of the American Medical Association has just confirmed that it had had censured and suspended the late surgeon general’s medical license for malpractice, verifying that the MRI in patient Nelson-Crane’s file was from a years old textbook transparency of a different person. Something that indicates this was more than a case of misplacing or mis-filing the surgeon general’s transparency of Nelson-Crane’s MRI.
“...The former president’s latest and privately taken MRI’s are still being examined. Meanwhile, the National Security Council has requested yet another MRI to be taken by a military hospital to clarify once and for all the questions regarding Nelson-Crane’s seeing things when he was drowning. A simple hallucination or brain damage, the answer is primary to show beyond any shadow of doubt, which it was, if possible.

“...Arrangements have already been made, and he will be flown to Washington this coming Monday, for the new MRI and other neurological tests which will be done at Bethesda Naval Hospital. Meanwhile former President Nelson-Crane has agreed to speak with our reporter in the field...”

The image turned to a sand castle contest of sorts on the beach and Lee walking with a reporter and camera crew up to his mother’s porch.

“...Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” the reporter asked of Lee, in sandy jeans and T-shirt, barefoot, sitting down on one of the steps. “So, are you upset about having to have another MRI done?”

“...Actually, I’m glad of it. Will help end all of the ‘what if’s’ out there. It’s time to get this behind us and move forward. Mom’s not too happy about it, though. I might be late getting back for the lobster bake.”

“...Do you think the surgeon general took his own life due to the AMA’s censure and suspension of his medical license?”

“...God only knows,” Lee said, truly saddened.

“...Sweetheart?” Mrs. C. called from the door. “Supper’s ready.”

“...Well,” Lee said, “That’s one mess call I don’t dare miss.”

“...What is for supper?”

“...Not really sure. She said it was going to be a surprise. Have a good evening.”

With a grin, he waved goodbye and disappeared through the door. With that the anchor desk took over and went to commercial.

***

“Finally,” Kowalski muttered a few hours later when we finally departed the canal, and Seaview powered up for her short trip through the Caribbean, our course set to pass between Cuba and Haiti, then along the Bahama Islands and up the east coast of the states.

Before giving Sparks the conn, Chip announced that the ‘Crossing the Ditch’ ceremony would take place tomorrow at lunch time. While there were only a few men aboard who hadn’t traveled the Panama Canal, everyone looked forward to the traditional initiation, including personalized certificates signed by Captain Chip Morton. There was a space for my name as well. (Cookie had baked the sheet cakes prior to us even entering the canal). Too bad there was no ice cream, though he thought better of asking the captain to stop offshore Colon for a shopping party. Everyone, especially Chip, just wanted to get the hell away.

I have only one other ‘breaking news’ story to relate before I retire. It seems Edith and Sgt. Caderwaller were seen together in Boston’s famous Union Oyster House, which, of course, led to all sorts of insinuations by the press. But if I called, she’d probably think I was being an interfering busybody, so I let it be.

I’ll know details soon enough.

~***~

Chapter Thirty One