Deception
by
Gail M. R.
"It
is just as much a matter of chance that I am still alive...
But
every soldier believes in chance and trusts his luck."
Erich Paul Remark
~~~~
The SSRN Seaview was
sitting on the surface holding station 100 nautical miles out, off the coast of
***
“You all set, Lee?”
Admiral Harriman Nelson inquired standing along side Seaview's Captain, Lee
Crane, who waited on the control deck prepared to ascend the steel ladder
leading top side.
“Yes, I’ll contact
you in three days, Admiral.”
Nelson clapped Lee
heartily on his shoulder, “Take care of yourself, Lee,” not allowing his mind
to stray into thoughts of Crane not returning. He knew someday Lee's ability to
come through against all odds would betray him. A cat only had so many lives.
In the course of events the Captain had already used up his fair share.
“Don’t worry, Admiral.”
Kowalski, who was standing behind Crane, chimed in, “Pat and I will watch his
back, won’t let anything happen to the Skipper.”
“You do that.” Nelson
answered with a smile and a slight chuckle. He had always been aware of the
crews unwavering loyalty to their Captain. The two ratings, in addition to the
entire crew, would lay down their lives for Crane.
Chip Morton Seaview’s
X.O. stepped forward putting a companionable hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Lee, we will be at these coordinates submerged waiting for your contact. Ready
to launch a raft and pick you up. Take care, buddy.”
“Thanks, Chip.” Crane
returned, smiling at his companions as he moved to exit the boat. “See you in
three days.”
Captain Lee Crane
climbed the escape ladder from the control room followed by Ski and Pat to the
sail hatch, prepared to board the fishing boat waiting to transport them into
one of Spain’s largest industrial sea ports. The boat would take them to the
dock and a prearranged meet with Boris Agapov, an
illegal arms dealer. Their mission, to purchase twenty five rocket launchers,
this merchandise, with some alterations, was to be resold for information
regarding a new chemical weapon being developed by the People's Republic. This
transaction had been arranged to establish Crane’s cover as a weapons dealer. The
mission was the brain child of the White House, the Pentagon, O.N.I. and
Crane’s bright idea to volunteer.
***
The road, agreed upon
for the meeting, was covered with dark and light shadows along the ground, lit
from the sun striking the concealing trees, causing intricate patterns to form
on the barren dirt of the clearing. The earth seemed overly filled with small
rocks, pebbles and deep ruts, the kind one could turn an ankle if not careful. It
fit the mood perfectly, somber, deserted, quiet and well away from any but the
most determined prying eyes. A black sedan sat waiting on the far side, having pulled
over to the shoulder well off the main street.
Within minutes, a
second car made its way to the clearing pulling in front of the original car, stopping.
Both cars were now nose to nose, separated only by a few yards. Headlights blinked,
flashing out a predetermined code in a specific sequence, to verify identities.
Car doors clicked and
opened. Stepping out from each vehicle, three occupants emerged. They took up
positions on opposite sides of the wooded clearing.
“Boris Agapov,” the
American called out.
“No.”
“Where is Boris
Agapov?” Crane countered with displeasure.
“Boris was delayed.
I’m making the transaction.”
“This wasn’t the
arrangement we agreed to,” The annoyance in his retort being obvious. “Do you
have our merchandise?”
“Yes, do you have the
money?”
“Yes, fifty thousand
now, fifty thousand on delivery pending inspection.” the anger building in
Crane’s voice.
A tall man with
eastern european features cautiously walked closer. “Crane?... I am Dmitri
Kosofe, Boris Agapov’s... ah...business partner.”
Crane motioned to Pat
who was holding a slim black brief case. “Show him the money.” Pat balanced the
case on the hood of the car, opening it to reveal neatly stacked, bound U.S.
dollars.
Dmitri Kosofe reached
in and began deftly counting the currency. Satisfied with the amount he
signaled to an unseen vehicle down the road. A large white box truck came into
view, pulling into the same clearing.
“Gentlemen, your
merchandise.” He slid up the cargo door exposing the interior compartment
heavily laden with weapons, specifically rocket launchers.
“Ski, check them
out.”
Kowalski with one
leap jumped up into the truck to inspect their acquisitions. After ten minutes
he announced, “All here and in good working order, Mister Crane.”
“Pat, bring the other
case.”
Crane gave an
affirmative nod. “Mr. Kosofe,” as he returned to the immediate vicinity of
their car.
Suddenly gun fire
shattered the relative quiet of the deserted road. All at once, bullets exploded
in all directions. Crane, Ski and
Out of the dense
woods walked ten well-armed mercenary soldiers clad in full black combat gear
with automatic rifles aimed directly at Crane’s head.
A single soldier
separated himself from the group taking up position in front of Crane.
"Mister Crane."
“What’s the meaning
of this?” Crane vehemently addressed the stranger.
With a heavy accent, although
his words were quite intelligible, he addressed Crane. “Captain Crane, I
presume.” Voiced as a statement of fact. This man obviously knew who and what
he was and his connection to Seaview and the U.S. Government.
Crane experienced a
cold chill rush through his body, 'it’s a
trap.' Lee's heart raced, pounding
with anger. "What, is this...?"
Without warning, an
electrical charge shot through the three captives standing by the truck,
dropping them unconscious to the ground.
***
Opening his eyes, at
first not recognizing his surroundings, Ski scanned the area in an attempt to
get his bearings. He caught sight of Patterson’s still form lying unconscious,
face down in the dirt. He partially lifted Patterson’s upper body out of the
dust. “Hey, Pat, you okay?”
Patterson came round
with a muffled groan, holding his throbbing head, as he cautiously sat up. “What’d
they hit us with anyway?” shaking his head slowly, striving to clear his
vision.
“I think it was some
sort of stunner, man it did a number on my head.” Ski rubbed his hand across
his face.
“Hey, where’s the
Skipper?” Patterson’s words were laced with panic.
Ski and Patterson
scoured the area in an attempt to locate Crane, with no success, aware that the
Captain may have wondered off injured and disoriented. In addition to their
missing Captain, the box truck and the money were also gone.
“Oh, boy, the
Admiral’s going to love this.” Ski reached into the sedan for the short wave
radio. With a hard swallow, “Albatross calling Seabird, come in Seabird.”
In a monotone voice,
“This is Albatross. I
need to speak to Operations, it's urgent.”
“Stand by." The
connection clicked. "Go ahead for Operations.”
“Albatross, what the
devil’s going on, you weren’t to make contact for another two days and where is
Mister Crane?”
“That’s just it, ah,
he’s gone.”
“Gone, what do you
mean gone!”
Ski relayed the
entire episode to Nelson, all that he could remember in precise detail, but he
lacked any useful facts.
The decision had been
made that Ski and Patterson were of no further use in their present location.
Nelson ordered them to meet at the original rendezvous coordinates and return
to the boat.
In the interim,
Nelson went about the arduous task of contacting all possible sources in Spain
in an attempt to ascertain Crane’s whereabouts.
By the time the two
crewmen returned to the boat, Nelson had just about given up. All his contacts
came up dry, no clues to the location of Crane, not even a rumor.
Commander Chip
Morton, tentatively broached a suggestion. “Admiral, what about Boris Agapov?”
“Agapov, that arms
dealer?”
“Sir, he knows the
area and I am sure he has connections… contacts we can’t access. He may know
where to obtain information.”
The Admiral shot back
to the X.O. “Chip, for all we know, he set this whole thing up.” Building anger
began to rise up in Nelson. His face flushed with fire, matching his red hair.
“Sir, his men were
killed and his money taken; if Ski’s right, one of the men gunned down was his
business partner.” Morton's voice slid into calm, addressing the problem with
reason and logic. His worry, as great as the Admiral's.
“Chip you might have
something there.” The anger faded in Nelson, replaced by a mischievous smile.
As he presented the Admiral with the beginning of an idea. “Appeal to his finer
nature. Greed. He might agree for a chance to retrieve his money and the
weapons. Good, Chip, very good. I believe we can work with that. Let us see
where it leads us, anyway.”
***
Crane roused with a
start to repeated back handed blows to his face. His cheeks stung, his lip felt
split, a trickle of warmth ran down his chin and he tasted blood. Lee's left
eye lid felt swollen, stuck together, making it difficult to open. He tried in
useless desperation to defend himself, shuttering under each assault but his
body refused to cooperate. Evidently he was pinned down. Realization finally
dawned, his wrists and ankles were securely cuffed to an unyielding metal
chair. His thoughts ran wild. 'Who had done this and what did they want.' Lee
wanted to scream, cry out from the unrelenting pain. But he refused to utter a
sound, not giving them any satisfaction.
“So, you’re awake, Mister
Crane or should I call you Captain? Captain Lee Crane of the submarine Seaview."
A tall bearded man
dressed in black fatigues stood over him. His eyes stark blue, cold and unyielding.
He spoke with a heavy accent but his words were unmistakable.
Forcing himself to
look up through his clouded vision, face streaked with blood, his stomach
lurched, continuously fighting the urge to vomit, he gasped, “what’s going on?
Why am I here?”
“We need not answer
any of your questions, Captain, but for the moment, you are our prisoner.”
“Who are you? What do
you want with me?"
"Revenge,
Captain Crane, pure and sweet revenge. If you must know why, you and your
Admiral killed my brother. He was aboard the enemy submarine Nelson destroyed
with the Macklin. He wasn't one of the lucky ones. He never made it out. This
way I get money for you and I have the satisfaction that you will suffer before
you die at the hands of your enemies, like my brother did. "The mercenary
smiled at the prospect of Cranes torturous death.
"Since you're
aware of who I am, I'm sure you are also aware, I will not willingly relinquish
any information.” Crane came back with an equally hard cold stare.
“Now we want nothing,
but perhaps a little fun before we turn you over to your buyers.”
Crane knew what was
coming, another swift strike from his captor. His whole body was already bathed
in sweat, dazed and shaken from the continual blows to his upper body and face.
He was trained to endure torture, knew what to expect. But it didn’t stop the
cold sinking feeling that ran through his entire body like a wave.
“Where are my men?”
“Your men were left
for dead. Our sole interest is with you.”
“You bastard.” He was
rewarded with a resounding slap across his already abused face.
“Who are you?”
“That is of no
importance to you. You won’t be our guest for long.”
At that statement, his
tormenter turned and was gone, leaving Crane alone seated in semi-darkness. Lee
Crane, with difficulty, experimentally tried to move the chair while struggling
to ignore the constant throbbing in his head and face. The chair, to his surprise,
was bolted to the floor.
Amid dim lights and
his blurred vision from his damaged eye, making it difficult to see his
surroundings clearly but he tried. High above his head daylight streamed
through windows with filmy broken glass; across the ceiling ran a myriad
of wires and corroded metal supports.
The floor appeared to be made of concrete, it was covered with filth, grease
and dust. On the far wall he noted small offices and lockers. He was being held
in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. He could hear the echoing sounds
of voices all originating from behind him. Men were speaking in quiet tones,
with the occasional bursts of laughter.
Crane began to
consider his options finding with no great surprise he had little choice but to
rely on his O.N.I. training. If Kowalski and Paterson were truly dead, it meant
he was completely alone. No one knew that he had gone missing, let alone a
location on his whereabouts. He would need to bide his time, what little he had,
watching for an opportunity to present itself with a means of escape.
A soldier arrived; he
released Crane from the chair hauled him to a standing position, pushing him
along at gunpoint, forcibly propelling him to one of the distant office
cubicles.
“How long have I been
here?” The Captain asked. “Where is this place?” Crane continued asking
questions to no avail. He was met with a cold stare and cruel smile.
A very shaky and
exhausted Crane took in his new surroundings. His prison had been stripped, devoid
of all furnishings, with the exception of where he sat. It appeared to be a
narrow framed cot, with an aged and heavily soiled mattress. His wrist was
secured to the wall with tight metal handcuffs, causing his arm to hang at an
uncomfortable angle, cutting into the flesh of his wrist. Crane was offered a
single cup of water, no food; he took
the offered cup, drinking deeply of the foul-tasting liquid, not knowing when
or if there would be another opportunity in the future.
The Captain sat on
the old cot studying the area all around him, continuously looking for a means
of escape to present itself. He spotted a thin piece of discarded wire wedged
up against the wall.
Cautiously, he looked
around. He knew it was ridiculous; there were no onlookers. He was the only
occupant in the empty room, his only company were the small insects on the
grimy floor.
Crane tried to judge
the distance to the wire. If he extended himself using his feet he could
probably dislodge the object. He knew he had to try.
Fighting the pain in
his body and head, he eased his leg forward, extended his long form as far as
possible; he felt considerable strain in his cuffed wrist and arm, nearly
dislocating his shoulder. Pointing his toe, desperate to free the object, his
first attempt met with little success. His second try gave him much greater
satisfaction. Dragging his prize closer, he picked up his only means of escape.
With the aid of the valuable wire, he deftly removed the handcuffs. He then turned
his attention to the door. Crane made short work of the uncomplicated locking
mechanism.
Easing the door open
he found no guard. He surveyed the warehouse floor, locating several points of
concealment. Cautiously he exited his prison, his black silhouette melting
smoothly into the darkened warehouse. Keeping to the shadows and the cover of
scattered crates, he crossed several yards of floor to the cubicles he had seen
from across the room. Close up they were rows of green-grey metal lockers.
Cautiously he quietly opened each door until he found what he sought, a weapon,
a gun, something to defend himself with, or to fight back, if the need should
arise. Further down, on the same wall as the lockers, he spotted a domed light
hanging over an arched doorway, and a set of concrete stairs, leading down and
hopefully out. Locating his closest option of escape, he gathered his last
burst of adrenalin driven energy, channeling it all into a desperate sprint for
the only exit in sight.
Taking the steps rapidly,
he hoped the tunnel would lead him to freedom. He walked several yards into the
passageway. The domed lights, high above, guided his path when he heard a noise
behind him. Crane stopped and turned as a gunshot rang out. The pain from the
bullet ripped through his right shoulder. He couldn't breathe, couldn't run,
his body burned as he sucked in hot stale air. His knees started to buckle as
he blindly hit hard onto the solid tar floor, rolling to a stop in the gravel.
Black boots
approached, kicking him in the gut and again in the ribs. He felt and heard a
sharp snap, as several of his ribs gave way. Crane clutched at his chest,
taking in a shallow breath. "You cause us much problems, Captain. The
sooner we deliver you, the better for all." As the darkness swiftly crept
over his vision, a fleeting thought crossed Lee's mind. ‘Death is preferable to being sold to the enemy.’
***
Admiral Harriman
Nelson took a seat in one of the ornate antique chairs; he sat there like he
belonged in this environment. Nelson stood in the palatial grand sitting room
filled with rare antiques and priceless one of a kind items. The sun glistened
through the elaborately appointed windows, spreading a golden shaft of light
across the oriental carpet.
Normally Nelson would
have marveled at the well-appointed room. Today, however, the Admiral had one
objective in mind, gaining much needed information in regards to Lee Crane’s
location.
“So, Admiral, tell me
why I should help you and your Captain after you deceived me?” Boris Agagov was
a tall man, not particularly handsome, with a thick German accent. He circled
the room as he spoke.
“Well, it’s just as
we discussed. You get your weapons and the money and we get Crane. What else do
you want?
“Say we know where
your Captain is being held, we would want assurances that you will not alert
the authorities.”
“What did you have in
mind? “
“You, perhaps, as
shall we say, insurance for our continued freedom.” Nelson was waiting for
this, a change in the original plan. He had arranged for just such a
contingency; he had handpick men stationed outside the villa ready to retrieve
him as soon as he obtained the location of Crane.
“I’ll agree to your
terms with one request, I need to call my boat.”
“That is acceptable
as long as I am present when you do.”
Nelson removed the
radio from the pocket of his leather jacket. “Seagull to Seabird, come in
Seabird.”
“Seabird, here.”
“I have the information
on the location of our merchandise. It is located on a small fishing boat,
moored at a private dock, about twenty miles down the coast, coordinates to
follow.”
“Information
received.”
“And, Seabird, a
slight change of plans. I am going to be detained here. You’ll have to proceed
with the procurement of our merchandise without my help. All other arrangements
are still in place.” With Nelson’s foresight, the original plans included the
Admiral's extraction from the villa, along with alerting Interpol and Spanish
authorities to their resident arms dealer.
“Seagull, I don’t
like the sound of that.” Chip objected.
“No choice in the
matter. You have your instructions. I expect you to carry them out.”
“Understood.” Chip
knew it was useless; all his protests would go unheeded.
“Seagull out,” as all
communications were severed.
***
Crane came to consciousness to the resonance
of a loud angry voice and the addition of a burning throb, deep within his
shoulder; his clothing and skin now soaked and wet. As he had expected more
blows followed the harsh words. The pain was a cold reminder of his present
circumstances.
“Captain, you have
been much trouble to us.” Those piercing cold unyielding eyes peered down at
the Captain, holding within their depths much hatred.
Crane looked up with
considerable derision aimed at his captor. Sweat-streaked dirt ran down his
abused face. In a sarcastic tone, he uttered, “I do my best.”
For his trouble, he
caught another blow across his face. “No matter, you are being moved. Taking
you one step closer...”
Cutting his captor
off. “Where are we going?”
“That is of no
concern of yours, Captain. We go now.” A coarse black hood was unceremoniously
shoved over his head.
“What are you doing,
where are you taking me?”
Rough hands grabbed
at his arms, dragging him through the warehouse. He struggled to free himself
from their painful grip. A fist caught him in the gut, he almost went down. Crane
moaned, straightening up slowly, trying to catch his breath. With the assault
and the broken ribs, it made it difficult to breathe.
“Don’t fight us,
Captain, or you will get worse. You need not be in perfect condition on
delivery.”
Bodily he was thrown
into a waiting van. He suppressed his cry of pain, not wanting to give them any
further enjoyment from his suffering.
It was twilight when
the old battered van pulled out of the dark warehouse with Crane inside. He
could hear the creak and moan of rusty hinges as the door resisted the effort
to open.
Completely blind to
his environment, he used his other senses to determine his location and where
he was being taken. By the feel of the road below the tires and the unmistakable
sound of men and machinery, they moved along an industrial dock. Could it be
the same dock where he originally came ashore?
As they pulled away,
the van picked up speed heading east, driving along on a smooth paved road for
some time. The vehicle sped along, maneuvering around a tight curve, continuing
on this route for several miles. As they slowed, the sound beneath the tires
changed as the van turned onto a sandy or dirt covered road, finally coming to
an abrupt halt. The back cargo doors squeaked open and brutal hands again
grabbed him dragging him out.
“Your next stop,
Captain, get up!” Insistent forceful hands thrust him forward. He felt the open
air on his body. Crane struggled, trying to free himself. He had no idea where
he was, but if he could get away, anywhere was better than being a captive.
“Where are you taking
me, who have you sold me to…?”
“Questions, always
more questions, just keep walking.”
In his darkness, cold
air plucked at his clothing. The breeze raised goose flesh on his sweat
drenched skin. He detected the unmistakable
sent of the sea, the call of sea birds high above his head and the soft murmur
of the surf lapping against a shore line. He was being propelled forward through
sand. The fine powder gave way to a wooden dock. He caught the distinct aroma
of raw gutted fish, as the tangy scent drifted in the air. He was being ushered
onto the wooden ramp of a fishing boat. No doubt this was to be his
transportation to an enemy vessel, and his buyers.
His body exhausted, his
legs began to turn to water causing him to stumble on the ramp, as fear
hammered at his heart. Crane’s knees finally folded under the strain, hitting
the wooden surface hard. He released an involuntary grunt, forcibly expelling a
sharp breath as he went down.
“Keep walking,” came
an angry voice. Crane's body was forcibly hauled onto the boat. They stopped,
standing on the deck, he listened to the conversation between his captor and
the Captain of the fishing boat. The exchange lasted only moments, it yielded
no pertinent information.
“Captain Stark, this
is your cargo. You are to make your delivery after midnight, as per your
original instructions. When you reach this position, you will receive a signal
from the trawler. That's when you make the final hand over. Is that clear?”
“Yes, but when do I
get paid?” Stark sounded annoyed. He wanted his money, now.
“After your delivery,
the money will be waiting for you at our usual drop.”
Viciously Crane was grabbed,
thrown into the hold. For a second time his hands and legs securely fastened to
a chair, with the door slamming behind his jailer. Again he found himself
alone.
***
Silent shots fired,
reaching into the grounds of the villa. The well placed snipers, who had been
concealed above on adjacent rooftops, cleanly knocked out the sentries on the
perimeter with stun guns. Moving swiftly, Nelson’s men then eliminated the
security guards closest to the house. Attaining the main entrance to the villa,
the men were prepared to extract the Admiral. His men rushed the door, taking
it, startling the guards on the interior, catching all completely unaware,
Seaview's men dispatched them quickly.
“We saw Agagov leave,
Admiral. Are you all right?” Riley breathlessly asked.
“Yes, is FS1 here?”
As he rushed for the door.
"Aye, sir,
Kowalski’s bringing her in now.” High
above them, the unique whine of the flying sub could be discerned a she
streaked over their heads.
“Let’s go.” Nelson
retorted.
As they departed the
villa heading for the adjacent air field, they glanced up towards the sky,
observing the distinct shape and bright yellow color of FS1. She closed the
distance quickly, making a perfect touchdown, landing onto the tarmac in front
of them.
The party hastily
climbed aboard the vessel, leaving the villa behind.
After boarding the
ship, Nelson took over the main controls, intent on flying her back out to
Seaview himself.
"Fasten your
seat belts, gentlemen." Nelson wrapped the transducer around his throat
fingering the controls. "Stingray to Seabird, come in Seabird." Immediately
taking FS1 airborne, Nelson pushed the little craft to her limits.
“Read you, Stingray.
Go ahead for Operations.” Sparks answered crisply. While O'Brian anxiously stood
in the communications shack, fingering the mic.
“ Has Pelican
departed for its destination?”
“Awaiting your orders
to proceed, Stingray. ”
“Permission granted,
with all possible haste. Seabird, we will rendezvous and dock in approximately
twenty minutes, Stingray out." The Mach two aircraft rapidly covered the
distance, plunging nose first into the murky waters of the Atlantic. Within minutes,
the docking clamps had engaged, producing an audible metallic clang that could
be heard in Seaview's control room - clear confirmation...FS1 was securely
seated within her birth, snug under Seaview’s nose.
***
As the raft continued
to approach its destination with the rescue party. It finally reached the shallows
near the fishing boat. Sharkey, pulled out a signaling lamp, he used it to emit
a prearranged signal aimed at the shore to alert Boris Agapov and his men of
their arrival. Agapov was to take the boat from dockside drawing attention away
from the stern, this allowed Seaview’s men to board the boat unnoticed.
Under the cover of
darkness they boarded. Deep shadows played across the deck, leaching color from
the scene. It caused indistinguishable shapes of black and grey, with patterns
that ran along the length of the rough wooden deck. As they carefully moved
forward, they could hear the altercation between Agagov’s men and the fishing
boat's crew. The arms dealer was attempting to extract information on the
whereabouts of his merchandise and money. Keeping them occupied, it left the
way clear for Morton and his men to rescue Crane.
Lee Crane roused from
his despondent state to the shouting above deck. Confused by the noise, he
didn't know his rescue was in progress. Hearing the door to the hold open, he
prepared for the worst. Panic swept through him, knowing this could be it. His
last journey to an enemy ship and to what fate? To his surprise, a familiar
voice called his name.
“Lee, are you here?”
A bright light broke the darkness of his surroundings.
He found it difficult
to reply. “Chip," His throat was raw and dry, "is that you?” He
barely croaked out.
“Thank God, we found
you!” Chip was shocked at Crane’s condition. His face was bruised and swollen,
smeared with dirt, sweat and blood. Chip’s eyes were drawn down to the blood
soaked tattered sweater, seeing the damaged raw flesh beneath the torn black
fabric. “My God, what have they done to you.”
Crane barely managed
an answer through a ragged breath, “I'm beat up a bit, bullet wound in my right
shoulder, sprung a couple of ribs.”
Chief Sharkey moved
forward to released the Skipper's hands and feet from their bindings.
"Lets get you out of these restraints, Skipper, so we can leave this
place."
All the while,
Patterson kept watch at the door.
Crane sat still for a
moment, feeling circulation painfully return to his abused body. “I don’t know
if I can stand.”
“Let’s see, lean on
me.” Chip and Sharkey lifted Crane bodily to unsteady feet. Immediately Crane
collapsed in their arms as they balanced his weight supported between them.
Gingerly, they reseated the Captain; Chip gently tapped Lee’s injured face in
an attempt to bring him around.
“Lee, Lee, come on,
we can do this…”
Crane groaned in
pain. Slowly he clawed his way to consciousness, reluctant to open his eyes,
head bowed. “Sorry, I feel so weak…not much help.
“We need to move,
sir.” Patterson interjected eyeing the door. “Mister Morton, the Spanish
authorities have arrived to arrest Agapov and his men. They may search the boat.”
“Boris Agapov he's
here? Chip, how did you find me and where’s the Admiral?” Lee eyed his friend
suspiciously.
Lee knew Chip well
enough to spot when he was hiding the truth, skirting an issue.
Avoiding Lee’s
questions, “no time for explanations, we have to get you out, now!” Urgency
showed in Morton’s face.
Crane stood biting
his lip, determined to stay on his feet. His body started to shake with the
exertion adding to the fatigue, weakness and pain, but he became resolute to
continue. With Chip’s help and Crane’s shear willpower, they managed to get to
the upper deck. Dizziness and nausea plagued Lee as he moved into the dim
moonlight. Only his resolve and Chip’s promise of home kept him on his feet and
moving.
Chip felt a shutter
go through Crane’s body, and took a firmer grip, "You're all right,
Lee." Morton sensed the weakness in the Captain’s legs. Using words of
encouragement, their continued progress being foremost in his mind.
“Almost there Lee,
just a few more feet." Slowing a little, Morton urged, "Lee, can you
hear me? Just breathe. Don’t quit on us now. We’re almost home.” Lee's head
started to spin, distorting his vision, while his heart began to race from the
considerable effort it took to stay upright and moving.
By the time they
reached the little boat, Lee's energy had entirely given out. It took the
combined efforts of all three men to place the Captain safely into the raft.
Sharkey immediately pushed hard with the oar from the raft, shoving off from
the fishing boat, headed back to Seaview.
Chip satisfied that
they were safely on their way, positioned himself and held the Captain close.
Morton didn't like the damage and the pallor of the usually strong handsome
tanned face.
Lee's breath began to
come in ragged gasps. "Chip?"
"Yes, it's me,
Lee, we're on our way back to Seaview. Just hold on a few more minutes."
Retrieving a water canteen stowed in the emergency gear aboard the raft. Chip,
offered it to Lee. “Here, drink this, it will help.” Bringing it gingerly to
Crane's swollen lips, Chip helped steady the container as Lee took the cool
liquid in gulps.
“That’s enough,
Skipper, take it slowly,” easing the flask away from Crane.
Suddenly, Crane
blurted out in a raw voice. “Pat...you’re...not dead?”
“No, sir.”
“They told me...you
and Ski...were dead…” His voice trailed off to a whisper, not able to continue.
“We were just knocked
out sir. When we came round, you, the money and the truck were missing. We
searched the immediate area trying to find you, but there was nothing, no clue
to what had happened to you. So we made our way back to Seaview.”
Chip fumbled for and extracted
a short wave radio from his pocket. "Pelican to Seabird, come in Seabird."
“This is Seabird, we
read you, Pelican, go ahead.”
“We have the package and
it’s damaged. We're returning to the nest, E.T.A. 10 minutes.” The entire
rescue party anxious to return to Seaview, and close the chapter on the
mission, an operation that everyone would have agreed had gone horribly wrong.
***
Nelson was the first
to exit the hatch from FS1. He began to bellow orders as he emerged. Stepping
on the control deck he moved into immediate action. “O’Brian, status updates on
rescue party. Any word from Mister Morton?”
O’Brian stood in the
radio shack, holding the headset close to his ear. “It’s coming in now, sir.
They're on their way back. It's confirmed, sir." O'Brian's brows furrowed,
darkening his eyes. "They have the Captain," the Lieutenant paused
again to listen. "Admiral, the Captain's injured, E.T.A. 10 minutes.”
"Understood,
Pelican. Preparations in place for the damaged cargo."
"Received and
understood, Pelican, out.
An uneasy look passed
between the two officers, Nelson reached for the mic. "Sickbay this is
Nelson."
Seaview's C.M.O.
answered crisply. "Sickbay, Jamieson here."
"Doc, we'll need
you in the control room. We've found Crane. They're bringing Lee aboard and
he's injured."
"Any
details?"
"I'm afraid not.
That's all the information that's available."
“Aye, sir. We're on
our way.”
“Mister O’Brian,
prepare to dive as soon as Mister Morton’s party is aboard. Set a course for
home at flank speed. Get us clear of the immediate area. Then drop her down to
standard.”
“Aye, sir.”
O’Brian immediately
stepped to the plot table, charting a quick escape from the area.
“Ski, do we have a
contact on that trawler out there?” Nelson inquired.
“Yes, sir. We do.
She's holding out there, staying in international waters." Kowalski bent
over the sonar panel intently tracking the foreign trawler's movements.
“Keep a sharp look
out for any movement. If that boat crosses into Spanish waters, sing out.”
“Aye, sir.”
Chip slid down the
last few rungs of the escape hatch ladder to land securely on the control deck.
Reaching up, he guided Crane’s unconscious body down. From above Sharkey eased
the Captains' limp form into Morton’s waiting arms. Following quickly, Doctor
Will Jamieson, Seaview’s Chief Medical Officer, who had gone topside to meet
the raft. Patterson came through last, dogged the above hatch prior to
descending the ladder to the deck.
A stretcher and two corpsmen waited in the
control room for their patient's arrival. With help, Crane was expertly loaded
onto the stretcher.
Nelson looked
pleadingly at Jamieson, “How is he?”
Jamie immediately
bent over the still form, feeling for the Captain's pulse. “Pulse weak, but
steady." Reaching a hand behind Cranes body, the Doctor examined the
shoulder for an exit wound. He furrowed his brow, not particularly happy with
the location of all the small bullet holes. He didn't care for the close
proximity of all the fragments, adjacent to the
thoracic axis, the artery leading into the arm's muscle. "His
shoulder looks like swiss cheese. Extremely close to his artery though... no
sign of an arterial bleed." Jamieson ushered in a soft professional tone
as he continued to examined the shoulder more closely. "No indication that
it nicked the artery." He thanked Providence for its watchful eye and
continued protection that seemed to always gravitate to Seaview's Captain.
"Lost a lot of blood from the deep fragment holes." He lifted Crane's
eyelids peering deep into his eyes. "He's severely dehydrated, going into
shock. I’ll know more when I get him into sickbay." Jamieson pulled off a
blood pressure cuff from Crane's arm, as he turned his head toward Nelson.
"He's weak, Admiral, from low blood volume." Jamie shook his head.
"From his battered appearance, he's really been through it..."
During the time it
took the Doctor to make his cursory examination, and before the detail could
lift the stretcher, Frank, Jamieson's corpsman, had started an I.V. and applied
a pressure bandage to the Captain's shoulder. As they prepared to move Crane
towards sickbay, Nelson touched a hand to Jamieson's arm. "Take care of
him, Doc. I want a report on his condition as soon as possible." All this
pain, all this suffering and for what, to bleed Crane dry of the secrets he
possessed.
Jamieson couldn't
help but see the pain that ripped through Nelson's heart and mind. It all
showed in the Admiral's clouded blue eyes. He glanced back towards Nelson and
nodded. Then quickly he motioned to the stretcher bearers to continue with all
speed. “Let’s go!” Jamieson snapped.”
“Admiral, Interpol
and the Spanish authorities were just picking up Boris Agapov and his thugs.
They added the Captain and the crew of the fishing boat to the arrests. All
were being rounded up as we were shoving off.” Morton stated, pleased and
relieved over their rescue efforts.
“Chip, Interpol has
had Agapov on their radar for some time now but never enough evidence to pick
him up.”
“They will now and
more with the arrest of the fishing boat's crew, Admiral.” Chip grinned,
obviously pleased, with the payback for Lee.
"Hey, Chief."
Kowalski motioned to Sharkey, who had been standing alongside the Admiral and
Mister Morton before the stretcher bearing Crane left the control room.
"Okay, Kowalski,
what is it?" Sharkey looked annoyed at the obvious summons.
"Chief, how is
the Skipper? He looked pretty bad."
"How should I
know? That's for Doc to determine. Now, keep your eyes on that board."
“Admiral." Ski
called out. "That trawler it's moving off. The shore patrol’s in pursuit.”
“Thanks,
Kowalski." Nelson turned to the Lieutenant, who stood directly behind him.
"Mister O'Brian, take her down."
Meanwhile, all around
the control room, the watch was preparing the boat to dive as the klaxons
sounded the warning of an imminent dive.
“Sail hatch secure,
Mister O’Brian,” as the crewman came sliding down the steel ladder to the
control room.
O'Brian picked up the
mic at the plot table. “Make all preparations to dive.”
“All systems read
green, sir,” a rating called out.
“Take her down,”
O’Brian ordered. "Down angle on the plains."
“Down angle on all
plains, sir,” Sounded the helm.
"Pressure in the
boat," another rating announced.
O'Brian gave the
order to dive. “Dive, Dive, all Dive!' He walked to the helm. “Come to course
two, three, zero. Make our depth nine oh feet, all ahead flank.”
“Nine oh feet, Sir.
All ahead flank.” As the instructions were issued, they effortlessly echoed
through the control room.
From above, on the
surface, the boat dropped below the choppy waves of the Atlantic. Green water
washed over Seaview's grey form, as she slipped deeper, disappearing into the
sea. Leaving behind nothing but swirls of white foam where she had once been.
"Mister O’Brian,
keep the con.” Nelson said offering the lieutenant a wry smile.
“Chip, good job.” With
a shake to the X.O.'s shoulders, Nelson reached around clapping Morton on his
back. “Now get out of those wet
clothes."
“Aye, Sir," as Chip
walked towards the spiral stairs. He had already planned to check in on the
Captain in sickbay after a detour to his own quarters, for a change of uniform.
Morton turned, eyeing Nelson. "And, Admiral...?
"I'll inform you
when I know something. Headed to sickbay now." Turning, “You have the con,
Mister O’Brian. I’ll be in sickbay.” Nelson’s voice betrayed his anxiety.
"Aye, sir.”
As Nelson worriedly
made his way towards sickbay, he could feel Seaview’s descent under his feet.
The deck inclined down as the boat achieved depth. Seaview dove under the
surface of the Atlantic to its relative quiet and safety of the deep, moving
them well away from the chaos of recent events.
***
The hour had been
late when Nelson finally arrived at the door to sickbay. Crane was already
attached to a multitude of monitors and several I.V. drips hung from above his
bunk. Doctor Jamieson briefly acknowledged Nelson’s presence.
Jamieson still
wearing his scrubs. “Admiral, I will be with you as soon as I have seen to the
Captain.”
“Doctor, I'll be
waiting in your office.” The Admiral turned into the small alcove of Jamieson's
office, knowing it would be sometime before the Doctor could disengage himself
from his patient.
Jamieson understood
he'd have to face Nelson’s queries eventually, but he wanted all the facts in-line
when he did. Jamieson knew that’s what the Admiral would expect, nothing less
than his best. He returned his attention to his patient, issuing a few more
orders. The Doctor had finished his extensive examination, and had successfully
removed all the fragments from Crane’s injuries.
An hour later, Jamieson
was satisfied that his patient's needs had been attended to and Crane had been
settled. The Doctor diverted his attention towards Admiral Nelson, who stood in
the cramped space of Jamieson’s office.
Jamieson stepped into the confines of the compartment.
Nelson immediately
set forth questions. “Will, how is he, will he pull through?" The first
words the
Admiral uttered,
betrayed his deep concern. Jamieson witnessed the play of emotion that raced
across Nelson’s face.
Shear strain and
worry showed on Jamieson’s features as well. “Yes, but it was close this time.
With his depleted blood volume, the dehydration, and deep shock, I seriously
doubt his body could have endured much more abuse. It is fortunate we got to
him in time. Given a few more hours, he would have no doubt bled to death.”
“What about the
bullet wounds?”
“The bullet shattered
on impact, fragments all through his shoulder. Surprisingly no damage to the
artery. The surface tissue along with upper layers of the muscle fiber are
shredded, but there was no interruption to blood flow. The shoulder and arm
should heal with no permanent damage. It all appeared inflamed, slightly
infected. I started an antibiotic drip, that should clear it up nicely."
Jamieson glanced down at his notes. "His wrist and ankles were badly
scored from metal cuffs, the right wrist being the worst. I cleaned and dress
those as well. A few broken ribs, painful but not considered serious. The
medication will address any other infected wounds.” Doc stopped, referring to
the folder sitting on his desk, "The full details will be reflected in my
final report, Admiral."
Nelson glanced in the
direction of the now dim and quiet sickbay. Only the bleep of the heart monitor
interrupted the hush in the now still room. “Can I see him?”
“I won’t stop you…
but… he’s under heavy sedation. He's very deep, won’t even know you’re there,
Admiral. He needs to be kept quiet, give his body time to recuperate. Harry, know
this, Lee will be here for quite some time.”
The Admiral nodded.
"Understood, Jamie." Nelson agreed with the Doctor's assessment. "You do realize you're going to have a
devil of a time keeping him here, once he is conscious!"
"Admiral, I will
expect some cooperation from you and Mister Morton on that score. I don't want
him pushing his recovery." A serious tone in Jamieson's voice expressed
his concern. "I'll be keeping him lightly sedated for now...but as he
recuperates it will be increasingly more difficult to keep him calm and off his
feet.
"We'll do our
best but you know our Captain, as well as I do, it won't be easy." Nelson
shot him a wary grin. The conversation had turned to the positive, Crane's
recovery. "I'll keep him down as long as I can, we have a long journey to
port. Crane will do better here on Seaview, he always does."
"I agree,
Admiral. We'll have to stay on our toes."
Nelson walked the
short distance to the lower bunk were Crane lay. In the subdued lighting, he
simply stared at the quiet form, grateful Lee had come through alive, again.
The monitors paced out the steady beat of his heart, as his chest followed suit
in a smooth rhythm. His shoulder had been cleaned, stitched and heavily dressed
with white bandages, in counterpoint to the richly tanned skin. The light
cover, drawn halfway up across his chest, no doubt concealed more bruising,
Lee's hand curled into a tight fist, clutched at the edge of the sheet. Nelson
could see bruises about his neck and shoulder. His elegant dark features
hidden, pale, discolored and swollen from the abuse. In this state, Lee looked,
as Nelson would put it, as a small boy. The innocent appearance, however,
concealed the strength of the man, the inner strength of a true leader. Harry
thanked God for that core of steel, that determination Crane had always
possessed. It continuously aided Lee in his very survival. Shaky fingers
slipped into Crane's outstretched hand, squeezing lightly, touching, feeling
the warm flesh beneath Harry's own finger tips, an extra measure of reassurance
to him, that it truly was Lee.
The Admiral stood
back, making his way to Jamieson's office. Inclined against the door jam,
Nelson leaned in, "Thanks, Jamie. Goodnight."
"Goodnight,
Admiral." Jamieson returned to his work, updating the remainder of his
reports.
The doctor's words
haunted Nelson as he departed sickbay, heading towards his own cabin. After the past few days, he recognized how
vulnerable Lee had really been, despite his uncanny abilities to endure and
invariably returning safely home to Seaview. Nelson feared one day, that Lee
would not come back to them, and his boat.
***
Several days later
the Admiral and Chip stepped into sickbay and found Lee sitting up eating
chicken soup, trying to work the spoon around his cut lip with difficulty.
"Hey, old buddy how are you feeling? You had us all a bit worried."
Crane tried to smile,
wincing as he did. "I'd feel better if Jamie would stop slipping me little
pills to put me to sleep."
Nelson glared at
Crane. "You need the rest, you're just starting to recover. Promise me you
won't force this."
"Lee, can you
tell us what happened? Who took you?" Chip plainly asked.
Lee, closed his eyes
and was silent. Nelson touched his hand, "we don't have to do this
now." Nelson knew Crane needed to deal with the anger, but didn't want to
push his Captain until he felt ready to talk about his captivity.
Crane looked down at
his hand turned it over as he thought, in a small voice. "I know. But I
want to." Crane queried. "How much do you know?"
Nelson answered.
"We know about the trawler waiting to come in and pick you up. What is
unclear is why? We never did have a complete picture."
"All I know, is
the mercenary that captured me had a score to settle. He blamed you, Admiral
and Seaview for the death of his brother."
"His
brother?" Nelson snorted, "what the devil does his brother have to do
with you?"
"Evidently, his
brother was on the enemy sub when you rammed it with the Macklin. He never made
it off alive. He blamed me for sending the signal so you could find the sub.
And you for making it impossible for his brother to escape. His compensation
for his brother's death would be the money he received from my capture and the
subsequent hand over to our enemies. He took great satisfaction in knowing I
would die a slow painful death." His eyes grew dark again.
Lee's thoughts were
interrupted by Jamie. The Doctor stepped over, moving the food tray off to the
side, Jamie took hold of Crane's wrist, checking his pulse. "Sorry,
gentlemen. Skipper, do you need something for the pain." Witnessing the
difficulty Crane was experiencing.
"No, Doc. I'm
all right, a little tired." Crane closed his eyes again, steeling himself,
he took in a slow deep breath. The bitterness of all he'd been through welled
up so quickly, it threatened to choke him. Swallowing hard, not admitting to
the total truth, his whole body ached and he felt so very tired but he wouldn't
give in to weakness. And he certainly didn't want one of Jamie's little pills
fogging his memory of events. Unsure at the time, why he must continue, but he
knew he had to and he needed a clear mind to do so.
"I'll give you
both another few minutes, then you must leave. The Skipper needs his
rest." The tone of Jamieson's voice sounded serious. He would not
entertain any arguments, from either man.
"Then we'll
leave. You can finish the story later, Lee."
"No, Admiral.
Stay. I want to continue."
"All right, Lee.
Just for another moment."
"The rest, I
suppose, was sheer revenge. He said, he just wanted to have some fun with me before
he turned me over to my buyers, that I didn't need to be in perfect condition
for him to receive his payment."
"Lee, how'd you
get shot?" Chip, needed to know.
"I tried to
escape, almost made it, too." Crane attempted another grin, rewarded once again
by the pain around his lips.
Chip echoed with a
broad smile of his own. "Should have known, you'd try to get away."
"I had been told
Kowalski and Patterson were dead, I had no means in which to contact you. To
tell you I was still alive. I had no backup, I couldn't rely on anyone except
myself. I needed to try to escape, make my way back to Seaview. It didn't turn
out exactly as I had expected."
Nelson laughed.
"Sounds like the Captain Lee Crane I know so well, trying to escape on
your own, not expecting any backup. Regardless, it all worked out, that's what
counts, at least in the end." Looking at the X.O., "Well, Chip, we
best leave or Jamie will come and throw us out. Get some rest, Lee."
Crane met Nelson's
sea blue eyes. "Thank you, Admiral. You both put a great deal on the line
to get me back."
"Had to, Seaview
needs her Captain. Best she'd ever had." 'And the best friend I could
ever hope to have,' he thought.
"Thanks, Chip,
for pulling me out."
"All in a day's
work, Lee. Seaview wouldn't be the same without her Captain."
"Come along,
Mister Morton, someone needs to be in the control room, minding the
store."
Moments later. Doc
rolled up on a metal stool with pills and a cup of water. "Skipper, this
is to help you sleep and this is for the pain you said you did not have."
With a stern look he said quietly, "Will you take them willingly or do I
need to use this," Jamieson produced a nasty looking syringe.
Crane met the Doctors
stare, and held out his hand. "Okay, I'll take the pills but I don't need
this...I feel fine," as he took the medication with the offered cup of
water.
"Captain!"
Doc shot back in a commanding voice. "Until you are out of my sickbay and
my charge. I'll be the judge of how you feel." Jamie smiled lightening his
stern expression, he softened his voice, "now get some rest, Lee, and
that's an order." What could he do?
Lee closed his eyes and snuggled back into the pillow. Sleep claimed him nearly
at once.
***
Out in the corridor,
Morton stopped the Admiral. "Sir, how is Lee, really ."
Nelson looked up at
Chip, seeing the deep concern run across his face. "Doc says he'll be fine
with quiet and rest. He's enlisted us to help him achieve his goal. Keep Lee
down until we reach home." Nelson barked a short laugh.
"That's a
relief." The X.O. smiled. " Sir, and who's going to inform the
Captain of this extended recovery?"
"Hopefully, we
won't have to. He'll come to that very conclusion with the proper persuasion
from us all."
Skeptically, Morton
nodded. "If you say so, Admiral. But I'll believe it when I see it."
***
Lee Crane, was lying
in his cabin propped up in his bunk on numerous plumped pillows, when he heard
a light tap at his door.
“Come.” He said sleepily.
The door opened to
the cheerful welcoming smile of Admiral Nelson. “I heard Doc released you. How
are you doing, Lee?” Nelson pulled up the desk chair and sat down beside
Crane’s bunk. Since Crane’s rescue and resulting confinement to sickbay the
Admiral had visited Lee several times a day. However, today's visit to the
Captain’s quarters meant Lee was truly on his way to recovery.
“Fine, Admiral, just
tired of resting." Crane pushed at his pillows, trying to get comfortable.
So frustrated he came close to tossing them across the room. The Captain felt
antsy, his thoughts, completely out of character for the unshakeable Captain of
Seaview.
Nelson noticed the
buff colored folder strewn haphazardly atop Crane's covers. "I see Chip's
been here."
"He stopped by
to check up on me. Brought me a few reports. He said it would take my mind off
being stuck in bed."
"What did Doc
say about you doing paper work?"
"He said I could
read some reports, do a bit of paper work. But," Lee scowled, "and he
stressed the point, not to overtire myself and stay in bed. He made himself
very clear."
"I'll bet he
did. And if I know Jamie, he'll make sure you follow his orders."
"Admiral, I want
to be doing something, anything but laying here and the reports aren't doing
it.” The Captain started to feel useless. Lee never dealt well with inactivity,
even during his recovery. He was chomping at the bit to return to his control
room and his silver grey lady. He always felt alive at the heart of Seaview.
“Lee, take it easy,
for now. Doc said you lost a lot of blood. You still need rest. Your body’s
been through a tremendous strain. You haven’t fully recovered despite how you
feel. Besides, Chip and O’Brian can handle overseeing the boat's operations
until we reach Santa Barbara. We’ll be home in four days.”
“I don’t want them to
get too use to it. I’m still the Captain.” Lee’s features split into a broad
smile, laughing, then grimaced from the pain, a reminder of his ravaged face.
Nelson grinned back,
careful not to acknowledge Lee's discomfort. “No need to worry on that score
Lee, I’m sure they are aware you’re still the Captain.” It was good to see Lee
laugh, Nelson thought, especially considering what he had just survived. Nelson
continued to clutch the small piece of paper as he spoke to Crane.
“What do you have
there, Admiral?” Crane referenced the
message the Admiral was holding.
“Oh, this, that was
my main purpose for my visit, aside from seeing how you were doing.
“What is it, sounds
important?”
“It’s from the
Pentagon. Admiral Sheppard launched a full investigation into the mission O.N.I
offered us. When we reported you missing, it sent up several red flags. Turns
out, the Admiral’s aide was a plant for the People's Republic. He orchestrated
the rumor of the chemical weapon and purposely directed the assignment to
Seaview. Knowing we would accept, it afforded the People's Republic an
opportunity to kidnap one or both of us.”
“The People’s Republic!”
Lee’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. He felt unsettled by the prospect of the
People's Republic getting their clutches deep into him for a second time. “They
had me once. I have no desire to repeat that nightmare.” Crane knew what it
cost him the first time the People’s Republic tried to brainwash him. No one
but himself understood the pain and guilt that resided deep inside him. He
would forever feel he betrayed his boat, his crew, his country and most of all,
Nelson.
Quietly, his golden
hazel eyes cast down. Shadows hovered around the edges. Lee said in a subdued
tone. “Harry, I tried to kill you.” Inwardly he could never forgive himself for
his attempt on Nelson's life. The terrible darkness, that nightmare, the wound
that remained would forever live deep
within his soul, never to be dislodged. He would always feel he betrayed
everyone and everything.
“Yes, but you didn’t
succeed. You couldn’t.” Nelson always knew the pain and guilt that Lee held
onto after that day. The Admiral's heart always recognized the anguish written
on the young officer's face. Despite Lee's actions, Nelson held onto everything
of value in life, especially the young Lee Crane. He displayed a steadfast
determination, that would in all probability, never change. In the face of
reality, they always found a way to accept each others limitations, achieving a
good, if not, perfect balance.
“No thanks to them.”
Crane looked up into sea blue eyes sharing a smile. However Crane smile faded
rapidly, dropping his head to avoid Nelson's eyes. Since that day, he had
trouble accepting the Admiral's trust and devotion. Crane saw it all projected
from Harry's sea blue eyes, the love, the respect and the innate compulsion to protect
his Captain.
"Lee, you have
nothing at all to blame yourself for, I certainly don't." Well aware, that
that threat would always remain a constant in their lives.
The Captain abruptly
changed the subject, becoming uncomfortable with the emotions being brought to
the surface. The old demons continued to haunt him. At times, the power of
Lee's emotions caught him off guard, overwhelming him. Lee asked. “Was Boris
Agapov in on the entire plan?”
“No, not all of it.
No one would have suspected his cooperation, either.”
“I still find it hard
to believe you went to him for information. You know Chip avoided that
particular question when I first asked him. Wouldn’t tell me where you were
either. ”
“It had been
originally, in point of fact, Chip’s suggestion.”
“If it hadn't been
for the deal you struck with Agapov, you would have never found me.”
"The mercenaries
that captured you, they were hired through agents of the People's Republic.
They owned the fishing boat you were held on, 'The Shakira', captained by Noah
Stark."
"Did you ever
know the name of the mercenary? I had only heard him referred to by, his
supposed rank, Captain." Crane's eyes unfocused, as he remembered the cold
cruel depth of the mans eyes. He let out an involuntary shudder at that
thought.
"I do believe we
did get a name," Nelson shuffled through the papers in his hand.
"Yes, here it is, his name is Luis Ruez. My sources tell me, he was a
mercenary for hire."
Crane shot up a dark
eyebrow, "The Captain of the enemy sub, his name was Thomas Ruez."
Their eyes locked.
"It really was
his brother. He was telling the truth. He did it all for revenge. Well, in
light of all the evidence, O.N.I. wants a full debriefing when you are cleared
by Jamieson."
"Don't they
always." Lee didn't look forward to a lengthy interview with Naval
Intelligence.
“You know, I almost
regret turning Agapov over to the authorities. Almost,” Nelson snorted.
"So, the whole
assignment was a ruse, an elaborate deception.”
The
End
This story references
two episodes from Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea series:
The Saboteur, Season
1 Episode 24
Killers of the Deep,
Season 2 Episode 15