Part
of the Cross Currents series, this story immediately follows events in Bloodlines.
Event Horizons
By T. Storm
Scathach
smiled wryly as she regarded Patterson from the tiny view screen. “I see you’ve
found Chip’s favorite hiding place in the orchard.”
Surprise
lighted his face. “How’d you know?” Then realizing the answer, he nodded to
himself. “Surveillance, of course. But why?”
She
hitched her shoulders, indicating unease and said, “Those letters that were
sent threatening you and Chip make me uncomfortable, so we’ve been keeping a
discrete eye on things. The cruisers Cu Belenus and Soese are
parked in geosynchronous orbit above you with two Sehsehrarm assault teams on
standby that can be groundside in less than five minutes. I‘ve had a tag put on
Chip, since he’s the most likely target.”
Patterson
chewed his lower lip, allowing his concern to show. “Foresight?“ he asked,
wondering if some of the Dawimhlar Foreseers had Seen something or if it was
Scathach’s own limited Talent that had prompted her action.
She
rolled her head in the peculiar motion that was both a yes and no. “Call it a
strong feeling on my part,” she replied.
He was
silent for a moment as he digested the information and considered the
implications of it. “Considering how sensitive the political situation on earth
is right now, keeping ships in orbit is pretty risky, even with heavy
shielding.” He shook his head and continued. “Not to mention how paranoid some
people in the US government are about aliens.” Scathach snorted, muttering a profanity
under her breath in reply and he grinned. “Yeah, I know, you people originated
on earth and you’re also hominids. But you are marine mammals and you do look
like kinda like otters.”
“Actually,
the fact that we are humanity’s closest cousins would probably upset the
bigoted and religiously fanatic worse than if we truly were aliens,” she
answered dryly. “But that‘s neither here nor there at the moment. Do you want a
tag for yourself?”
“Probably
be a wise move, if you feel that concerned about it.”
Scathach
nodded. “I’ll drop one to you now.” She turned and spoke to someone off-screen,
then turned back to face him. “By the way, how’s the wrist?”
Pat
held up his left arm, displaying the light cast. “Healing, if slowly. The itch
is driving me crazy.”
She
grinned at him. “Try it sometime with fur under the cast if you want to really
itch.” Pat grimaced and shuddered as he shook his head in emphatic negative.
“On another subject - who at NIMR knows that Morton and Nelson are blood kin?”
“Right
now I think it’s just the Admiral, Doctor Jamison, Miss Nelson, probably
Captain Crane and Security Chief Haggen.” Patterson cocked his head to one side
as he mentally ran through the list of people most likely to have been told.
“With the Admiral’s sister in the hospital and him staying there most of the
time, plus this being Sunday, I doubt that even any of the secretaries know
yet.”
“But
it won’t stay that way long. Once it becomes known outside the senior staff
Tobin will know too. He’ll try to use it.”
“The mole.”
His expression was one of distaste.
“Unfortunately.
We still don’t know exactly who it is yet. The last information you gave us
appears to narrow it down to someone in Security, possibly a shift supervisor
or one of their assistants. We also suspect that the mole is also working with
Horton. That simplifies things in some ways. But we still don‘t know if the
mole is working alone or has an accomplice or Goddesses forbid, several
accomplices.”
A
dangerous glint appeared in Patterson’s eyes, something that few people outside
his closest friends - or his enemies - had ever seen. “Tobin’s mole was
responsible for the crash of the Flying Sub?”
“At
least partially. We’re not sure if he actually did the sabotage or not. But he
certainly supplied information. Whether or not he did the actual act is
immaterial - he’s still guilty of treason.”
“Is
Tobin involved with Horton?”
Scathach
sighed again. “No direct proof of it - yet - but…”
“You
wouldn’t care to bet against it.”
“I’m
afraid not. His hate for Nelson has consumed him. The fact that his operative
inside NIMR is also working for Horton isn’t real proof of a connection, but
it’s a possibility we can’t ignore.”
Patterson
shook his head. “You’d think with his power and position…”
“But
Nelson has more. More than that, Nelson commands real respect and not just in
the Navy. Tobin has gone as far as he can up the rank ladder and he knows it.
That little incident with the Queeeal starship cost him dearly in prestige,
because it made a lot of people start to question his judgment. He’s blaming
Nelson, but in reality he has only himself to hold responsible for his
failures.”
Patterson
sighed, remembering all too well the incident in question involving a damaged
spacecraft that Tobin insisted Nelson attack. Instead Nelson and Crane had
helped the ship escape, thereby stopping a war
- though not the one everyone in the Pentagon and White House thought
was about to occur. He had sent an emergency message telling the Dawimhlar what
was happening, but he hadn’t known until afterwards the details of what had
transpired. It had really surprised him that they’d gotten through that little
fracas without the Dawimhlar having to reveal their presence to at least Seaview
and Nelson - or the Queeeal pilot mentioning them.
“We
certainly always seem to be in the thick of things somehow. So are you planning
on letting the Admiral in on things in the near future?”
Scathach
shook her head. “We’d really rather not until we’re sure that we’ve uncovered
everybody at NIMR who could prove to be a major problem - or leak to the media.
But at some point soon we’ll probably have to contact Nelson and his top staff,
especially if Chip makes up his mind to tell him about us.”
Patterson
started to say something else, but a small round coppery colored object about
the size of a baseball suddenly flashed to a stop in front of him. He shifted
the communicator to his left hand, then reached out his right hand and allowed
the tiny remote to settle in his palm. There was a brief stinging sensation in
his hand as the tag was inserted under the skin. Mission accomplished, the
sphere floated off his hand and once clear, accelerated upwards like a rock
falling backwards. He peered closely at his hand but there was no trace of the
microscopic transmitter. Nodding in satisfaction, he shifted the communicator
back to his good hand and looked back at Scathach. She was looking off-screen
at someone else; he figured they were checking the telemetry. She turned back.
“You’re
good to go, Pat. I just wish things weren’t so unsettled that you need to be
tracked.”
“Life
with Seaview, may you live in interesting times,” he noted with a shrug.
Scathach looked a little unsettled at his statement since the ‘may you live in
interesting times’ part was considered a curse by Dawimhlar reckoning, but
didn’t comment on it. “Anything else?”
“As a
matter of fact, there is. Yesterday Chip unburdened himself to Don about us, so
he may be asking you about the Queeeal and what I did to Smith.”
That
took him by surprise. He‘d not expected Morton to reveal the existence of the Dawimhlar
to anyone in his family - at least not this soon. “What do you want me to say?”
“Well,
we obviously aren’t ready for you to tell Detective O’Brien that you’re technically
one of us, even though you‘re mostly human.” Her tone was droll and Patterson
couldn’t help but laugh.
“Gives
a whole new level of meaning to the term undocumented alien,” he replied in an
equally droll voice.
“Only
if one is speaking of your mother, Pat - you were born here and your father is
a native. So you‘re a citizen here, too.” She flashed a toothy grin at him,
then returned to the subject. “As far as Don O’Brien goes, I think just the
basics that someone in your position would be expected to know. He shouldn’t
expect more.”
“What
if Mr. Morton asks?”
“Should
that happen, tell him in private whatever he wants to know. Chip already knows
too much for you to try and be evasive with him. I expect it’s just a matter of
time before he starts trying to contact us. I’d prefer that to happen before he
tells Nelson about us, but it may not. Either way, I think that it’s only a
matter of time before my species existence is revealed to your government. We’d
prefer our initial first contact be with someone like Nelson, not a paranoid
idiot like Tobin who would shoot first and then ask questions.”
Patterson
nodded, looking grim. The political situation on earth was dangerous enough
with only humans jockeying for power. Making unnecessary off-world enemies was,
in his humble opinion, just plain stupid. “That’s for sure.” He shivered as a
chill breeze began to rustle the grass. “I’d better get back to the house
before someone decides to come check on me or I freeze something off. It’s a
lot colder here than Santa Barbara. If any new developments come up, I’ll let
you know as soon as I can.” Scathach nodded to him and the tiny screen went
blank. Patterson sat for a few moments longer and gazed up at the stars, lost
in thought as he contemplated the events now in motion. Whether they were ready
or not, events seemed to be moving towards an official meeting between the two
races.
*********
Chip
looked up from his Monday morning breakfast to see his Aunt Sammy staring at
him with a contemplative gaze in her eyes. It suddenly reminded him a lot of
how Nelson looked when he was getting an idea - and made a shiver run down his
spine.
“Chip,
do you think Harry would get upset if some of us came out there for a visit? He
said they didn’t have much family left back east and had no plans for the
holidays.”
Chip
blinked in surprise at the idea, but then carefully considered it. “It might do
him and Edith both a lot of good,” he said slowly. “Unless Seaview is at
sea on a mission, the two of them usually spend the holidays alone at the
Institute. The crew is normally gone on leave for the most part, so it tends to
just be a skeleton staff. Who were you thinking of taking?”
“Myself
and Earl, of course. And I think Don will want to go. He’s mentioned that he
wants to talk with Mr. Haggen some more. I don’t know if Carolyn and the kids
would go too.”
Cliff
joined in the conversation. “I’d like to go and meet your Doctor Jamison, but
…,” he gave his wife a sideways look as she frowned at him, “Janice and I are
still discussing it. We usually go to her parent‘s for Thanksgiving.”
Chip
looked thoughtful. “The charter we flew out here carries eight passengers. With
me and Pat, that would leave room for six.”
“Do
you think Harry would mind? Give me your honest answer, Chip.” Sammy put her
hand on his to emphasize her earnestness.
Chip
paused in his eating and thought about it. “I think you should take your
pictures and stuff with you so you can set down with him and go through it.
Especially Captain Sligo’s journals and logbooks. He’ll find that fascinating.”
Chip grinned as he recalled the shelves of old logbooks that filled the
Admiral’s personal library. “Be prepared for him to want to copy them. He
collects old logbooks - has shelves of them. And he reads them. We’ve done a
couple of scientific missions based on things he’s read in old logs. He’s fond
of saying that the old sailors may not have known what they were seeing, but
most of them were pretty good observers, not given to flights of fancy.” He let the grin fade as he continued in a
more subdued tone. “I know Edith gets terribly lonely around the holidays since
they don’t have anybody left on the Nelson side of the family. Maybe it would
cheer her up to know she’s got this horde of cousins.” He took a bite of
scrambled egg and chewed while he considered another aspect of the situation.
“There’s another problem you might be able to help with, too.”
“Oh?”
Sammy cocked her head to one side in question.
“Some
of the Admiral’s critics are going to jump all over us about me being related
to him. Pat and I talked about it last night and it occurred to us that since
it’s going to come out sooner or later, we should make a preemptive strike, so
to speak. That is, announce it ourselves as soon as possible, along with the
circumstances of why no one knew and how we found out, so we can limit the
damage and maybe even turn it to our advantage.”
Sammy
looked over at Pat to see him nodding agreement and was momentarily speechless
that anyone would try to use their newfound kinship against the two men. Anger
flared in her blue eyes - and again Chip was reminded strongly of Nelson. He
shivered again. His aunt had a formidable temper when she wanted to, very much
like the Admiral‘s. Nelson’s enemies might well rue the day they thought to
take on his newfound relatives.
“I’d
be more than happy to help you and Harry out,” she stated emphatically, her
expression one of determination. “Perhaps we should go this week, instead of
waiting for Thanksgiving, so we can do this before any of these blackguards
find out.”
Chip
looked thoughtful as he considered her offer. Today was Monday, November 15.
Thanksgiving wasn’t until the 25th, so there was ten days to go. It
was a pretty safe bet that they wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret that long,
especially once the employees who didn’t work directly for the senior staff
found out. During their conversation last night Pat had pointed out that there
was obviously at least one mole among the Institute’s employees who was on
somebody else‘s payroll. It was a safe bet Tobin had somebody on the inside -
he’d come up with knowledge in the past that he couldn’t have come by any other
way. If they wanted to make the announcement themselves, they’d need to move
fast. He needed to talk to Haggen and the Admiral and see if they agreed. “I’m
inclined to agree Aunt Sammy, that the sooner the better. I do need to call
Haggen and discuss schedules. If he and the Admiral agree, we could have the
Institute’s jet sent for us. It’s bigger than the charter we flew here on,
carries twelve passengers instead of eight - and we could fly directly into
Santa Barbara instead of LA. If we’re coming out with the news, it wouldn’t
matter if we’re seen together. Plus more people could go.”
“That
would work better for me,” noted Cliff from across the table, as Janice nodded,
looking relieved. “I took a week off from my practice - if we could go this
week I wouldn’t have to extend my absence. And I would like to go.”
Earl
joined in. “Don has made arrangements for this week as well. Since the
department already doesn’t expect him to be around full time, it’d work out for
him and Carolyn. If she goes they’d probably leave the kids with her mom and
dad since school isn’t out yet.”
Chip
mentally counted. “That would be eight, counting me and Pat. Who else?”
Sammy
considered. “I know that Jean and Jane would both love to go, but again, with
school still in session, I don’t know if they can get off, especially since
it‘s so close to the end of the semester and the holidays. It would likely
depend on how long we planned to stay.”
Chip
consulted his watch. It was shortly after 7:30 AM local time, which meant it
was only 5:30 back in Santa Barbara. Far too early to call and catch anybody in
their office. As he mulled things over, reviewing the schedules of people back
at the Institute, a new complication occurred to him. “Oh, shit,” he said as he
clapped a hand to his forehead.
“What?”
asked Sammy, looking somewhat alarmed.
“Hank,”
said Chip. The look of consternation on Sammy’s face showed her instant
comprehension of the problem.
“Oh,
dear,” muttered Sammy, shaking her head. She looked over at Chip and said,
“This isn’t something he should hear on the five ‘o clock news. Or worse, have
a reporter and camera show up on his doorstep for an interview.”
Chip
flinched at the idea. “I guess I’d better call him before I call Haggen. He’ll
need to call Daniel, too.”
His
aunt looked at him ruefully. “We’d been discussing having Dr. Jamison call him
to try and reestablish some kind of relationship with him, just in case you
needed him to come down while you were here. We didn’t want to damage the
relationship that the two of you have.” She sighed. “I guess now there’s not
much choice but that you call him yourself. I just hope he doesn’t get too
upset and take his displeasure with us out on you.”
“That’s
not Hank’s style,” said Chip, shaking his head. “In truth, I don’t know why he
hasn’t contacted you before now. We talked about the way our dad treated you
once and he told me that he had come to realize that what happened wasn’t
really your fault. He said he was kind of ashamed of the way he’d reacted.”
Looks
were traded between the other members of the family. Cliff leaned forward and
spoke. “Do you think there’s any chance that he could get off work and join us
when we make the announcement?”
Chip
blinked as he thought about it. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. He paused, then
added somewhat wistfully, “It sure would be nice if he could.”
“Perhaps
Harry could pull some strings,” suggested Sammy, “after all, he is an Admiral.”
A
smile twitched at the corner of Chip’s mouth. “Rank does have its privileges,”
he said drolly. Chuckles answered from around the table. He turned serious. “I
don’t know if Hank’s on duty today or not, so I’ll wait until after 8:00 to
call. Wouldn’t want to get him out of bed. Do you want to call Don and the
girls, Aunt Sammy?”
“Of
course, Chip,” said his aunt, smiling at him.
********
Chip
paced the kitchen floor nervously. Sammy had talked to his cousins earlier -
Don and Carolyn were going, but Jean and Jane had been unable to make
arrangements on such short notice. Perhaps it was just as well. He’d talked to
Haggen afterwards about the idea for a news conference and learned that Haggen
had come to the same conclusion himself. The Security Chief told him Nelson
wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but had been forced to admit that he didn’t have
anything better to offer. Chip then suggested that the Institute’s Gulfstream
II, having more passenger capacity as well as greater range and speed than the
chartered Lear 35 they’d flown in on, could fly to Chicago and pick up Hank -
and hopefully Rachel - then swing down to Kansas on the return leg of the
flight for the rest of them. Tentative arrangements were made - they’d firm
them up once Chip knew for sure Hank was willing to cooperate. Lee, who had
come in during the conversation, had informed Chip that he would fly out on the
plane to brief them on the final plans. Chip had smiled to himself because he
knew that meant Kowalski would be along as well. The man had appointed himself
as Crane’s watchdog and guardian - just like Patterson was his.
He
paused in his pacing and glanced at his watch. It was now nearly 11:30. An old
memory surfaced from the depths of his subconscious and he found himself
repeating the line that sprang into his mind before he’d quite realized what he
was doing. “Fhar os Vannaks Seerid bhuer clahn.” He blinked in surprise,
then paused for a moment and turned the phrase over in his mind. It was
Dawimhlar - he remembered Scathach saying it any time she or one of the others
was about to embark on something that had any risk. What was it she’d told him
it meant? It was a prayer of sorts, that much he remembered. Something to the
Eternal Mothers? He smiled grimly to himself. He could use all the help he
could get for his conversation with Hank. Despite what Hank had told him about
not blaming their mother’s family - other than her father - it was going to be
tough for Hank to swallow his pride and defy their father. But something was
going to have to give, otherwise the Morton family was apt to find their dirty
little secrets being revealed on the covers of supermarket tabloids. It was
almost inevitable that there were going to be questions about Henry Morton’s
actions, but if Hank stood with him it might spare the rest of the family. Chip
sighed and dialed the station’s number.
Hank’s
engineer answered the phone and recognized Chip’s voice. After a cheery hello
the man called for his captain to come to the phone.
“Hi,
Chip. You got a problem I need to know about?” Hank was teasing his brother.
“Well,
actually, Hank, yes.” Chip’s sigh carried down the line, causing consternation
in his brother.
“Okaaay.
Tell me about it.” Hank’s jovial tone died. He knew from conversations with
Jamison that the doctor had been worried about the effect that Smith’s return
could have on Chip. He just hoped that this wasn’t the doctor’s fears coming to
pass.
Chip
took a deep breath. “Aunt Sammy wrote me a letter and invited me to Kansas.”
There
was a long silence on the line before Hank spoke. “Are you going to go?”
“I,
ah, already have. I’m calling from there.” Chip hunched his shoulders, half
dreading his brother’s reaction.
“I
see.” The tone was neutral, though Hank’s emotions churned at the revelation.
Part of him wondered what on earth had prompted their aunt to finally contact
Chip after all these years - and a part felt the stirrings of guilt that he
hadn’t made the first move himself years ago.
Knowing
his brother well enough to recognize from the tone that he was upset, Chip took
a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Hank, there’s been a major complication in my
life crop up as a result of some things I learned from Aunt Sammy. We went
through some of her old photos and family records and discovered that we’re
related to Admiral Nelson. I’ve talked to him about it and it’s confirmed. Our
great-grandfather and his were the same man.”
Whatever
sort of disaster Hank had been expecting, this wasn’t it. “Wait, how could that
be?”
“Did
mom ever tell you about her grandfather Sligo?”
“Captain
Sligo? Yeah,” he said slowly. “But his first wife died, didn’t she? Or was he a
bigamist?”
“She
died, alright, and he’d been told his daughter had too. Turned out that last
part wasn’t true. That daughter was Admiral Nelson’s grandmother, so me and you
and Daniel are Harriman Nelson’s second cousins.”
“What?!”
Hank’s yelp carried down the line - and through the firehouse, causing his crew
to stop and stare until he waved them back to their tasks. He scratched his
chin thoughtfully. “I can see how that was a surprise, but how is it a
problem?”
“Nepotism
is rather frowned upon in the military. Even in the Reserves.”
Hank
knew that Seaview was more than she appeared to be - he’d been around to
pick up the pieces too many times to be fooled into thinking otherwise.
“Okaaay, how can I help?”
“First,
are you’re okay with me being at Aunt Sammy’s?”
Hank
was silent for some time as he mulled it over. He sighed. “Truthfully? I’ve got
mixed feelings about it.” He sighed again, deeper this time, and ran a hand
through his hair. “But I guess it needed to happen. How are you handling it?”
“It’s
been good for me,” said Chip simply.
“Then
I’m okay with it,” said his brother - and he found to his surprise that he was.
“I
hope so, Hank, because to keep this from being used by the Admiral’s enemies,
we figure the best plan is to announce it ourselves and explain the
circumstances of why we didn’t know. The best way to do that is a press
conference. I’ve talked to people back at the Institute about it and they
agree. What we’d like to do is fly several of the family out to Santa Barbara
and have the press conference there.”
“So
who’s coming?”
“Aunt
Sammy and Earl, our cousin Don and his wife. He’s a cop by the way. And Earl’s
brother Cliff and his wife. We were hoping that you and Rachel would both
come.”
“Anybody
on Nelson’s side besides him and Edith?”
“No,
but that’s mostly because there’s only a handful of people left in that branch
of the family besides them.”
“Not a
huge affair then.” It was more of a statement than a question. “When is this
supposed to take place?”
“As
soon as possible. Like tomorrow.”
“Chip,
I’m on duty…”
“The
Admiral is going to see if he can make some arrangements. We’d really like to
present a united front - that might keep the newsies from digging as deep as
they might otherwise.”
Hank
immediately understood the implications and sighed yet again. Over the years
he’d found himself drifting farther from his father. There were times when he
wondered why he even bothered to try and maintain a relationship, since he
seemed to be the only one doing any giving. If it was obvious to the reporters
that there was a schism in the family, they would be sure to jump on it.
“Dammed vultures,” he growled. He’d too often seen the feeding frenzy of the
press over a disaster. The feelings of the victims were too often either
ignored or worse, exploited. All in the
name of ratings. He could readily understand why Chip wanted to tell him
personally about the discovery - he could also understand why Chip didn’t want
to try and hide it, as much as he might like to. It was sure to eventually
surface and having concealed it would make it look bad, prompting some nosy
reporter to dig even deeper. As if his family hadn’t had enough tragedy.
“Okay,
if Nelson can square it with HQ, I’ll go. Who’s paying for the tickets?” It was
strange to think of the dynamic admiral as family. He’d noticed that Chip still
wasn’t very comfortable with the idea himself either.
“The
Institute’s private jet will pick you up in the morning if everything gets
squared away. Then it’ll fly down here and get the rest of us.”
“Yeah?
No room for kids then. Do we stay in the guest cottages?” He had stayed there
during the recent visit out to see Chip. When he’d described the place to
Rachel she’d wistfully told him she wished they could both visit and stay there
during a happy time.
“You
got it.”
“I
guess we’re going then,” he commented wryly. “Rachel would kill me herself if I
let an opportunity like that slip past.” That wasn’t all. Rachel had been on
his case for almost as long as they’d been married to repair the rift in the
family caused by their father. It had been one of the few things they’d had
serious disagreements over, at least in the beginning. As time had progressed
he’d come to realize that she was right, but his own stubborn streak was
reluctant to admit it. He knew he’d need to do some serious soul searching
tonight to get prepared - and a visit to their parish priest probably wouldn’t
hurt either. He’d found Father Harris to be very understanding of his plight
concerning his dad - and immensely helpful. He shook his head over the
direction his life appeared to be taking. Even the priest asked him from time
to time about contacting their mother’s family. He guessed his procrastination
had prompted a higher power to take action.
Chip
laughed, knowing what he was referring to, since Rachel had mentioned to him
that she‘d love to come stay in one of the guest cottages. “She’ll probably
call her mother as soon as you hang up to make arrangements for the kids. I’ll
call Haggen and get the ball rolling.”
“You
know where to find me.”
*******
It
took the rest of the day, a dozen phone calls back and forth, plus a personal
phone call from Admiral Nelson to the Chief of the Chicago Fire Department, but
by dark plans had been finalized to get everyone on the Institute’s private
plane to fly to Santa Barbara. The NIMR jet would arrive in Chicago early the
next morning to pick up Hank and Rachel. Arrangements had been made for their
kids would stay with Rachel’s parents for the duration. As Chip had requested,
they hadn’t told the children or Rachel’s parents what the trip was about, only
that it wasn‘t bad news and that they shouldn’t be gone more than a few days.
The plane would then head to Dodge City and pick up the rest of the family
before flying back to California.
*********
Chip
stood with his Aunt Sammy at the terminal windows and watched as the
Institute’s Gulfstream II lined up on final approach. He’d gotten a call from
Lee Crane just before the plane departed Chicago with Hank and Rachel, letting
him know that so far everything was going according to plan and giving him an
ETA.
The
jet touched down and rolled out to a near stop before turning to taxi to the
terminal. Chip could see heads pop up around several of the hangars to watch as
the plane taxied past. Corporate jets the size of this one weren’t an everyday
occurrence here, so most people stopped to look and see who it belonged to. The
plane itself looked ordinary enough, white with two narrow dark blue stripes
down the sides; it was the NIMR logo on the plane that drew second looks and
attracted a crowd. He turned to look up at the tower and could see that the two
air traffic controllers who manned it had acquired binoculars and were also
watching the plane with great interest. No doubt they were curious to see if
the famous - or infamous, depending on one’s point of view - Admiral Nelson was
aboard. Don came up beside him and grinned.
“I see
why you didn’t want to fly in with that one. Does tend to attract attention.”
“Yeah,”
admitted Chip, “though it was Haggen who chose not to use the Institute’s
plane. He didn’t want Edith to know I’d left, plus if we’d flown out of Santa
Barbara in it, there was a possibility she could have found out where we’d
gone. Or worse, the newsies.”
The
aircraft braked to a stop in front of the terminal and as the left engine
spooled down, the door opened to reveal Lee Crane in a set of dress blues, with
Kowalski - in a suit and tie - right behind him. Chip’s eyebrows rose at the
sight. He hadn’t expected Lee to put in such a formal appearance. Was something
going on he didn’t know about?
Crane
descended the steps and strode across the tarmac as Chip opened the terminal
door and stepped out to greet his friend, his family close behind. Lee looked
Chip over carefully as the two men shook hands.
“You
look better than the last time I saw you,” Lee said, grinning. “How’s your back
coming along?”
Chip
shrugged but smiled back at Lee. “A lot better than it was. What’s with the
blues?” He waved a hand to indicate Lee’s uniform, which was definitely drawing
stares from bystanders.
Crane
sighed. “The Admiral decided the occasion warranted something more than khaki,
just in case we got cornered by the media anywhere. Plus he wanted to put the
Institute’s best foot forward for your family - his family,” he corrected and
smiled wryly. “This business of the two of you being cousins is going to take
some getting used to, Chip.”
Chip
shook his head and told him, “Tell me about it. You should look at it from my
perspective. But speaking of family… ” He turned and motioned the group behind
him forward. “Let me introduce you and Ski to everybody.”
Lee
and Kowalski shook hands with the men as each was introduced and got hugs from
the women, especially Chip’s aunt. Chip looked beyond to the aircraft and saw
his brother hovering uncertainly in the doorway. He motioned for Hank to join
the group. After a second of hesitation - and Chip could have sworn a push from
behind - Hank descended the stairs with Rachel right on his heels. Sammy moved
out to greet him, smiling. When she took his hands in hers and pulled him close
to kiss him on the cheek he suddenly enveloped her in a hug, burying his face
in her shoulder. The others could see Rachel surreptitiously wipe away a tear
before she came over and embraced Chip. When she released him, the rest of the
family moved up to be introduced. By the time names had been exchanged, Sammy
was leading Hank over for more introductions.
At
this point the pilot appeared in the doorway and gestured for the group to come
and board the plane. It was obvious they weren’t planning on hanging around
long enough for anybody on the ground to ask questions; a small crowd had begun
to gather at one end of the terminal building, watching the proceedings with
great interest. Lee gathered up the group and led the way to the plane. Bags
were quickly stowed and the family seated - an operation that took less than
five minutes. The left engine was restarted and the plane pivoted away from the
terminal. As the onlookers drifted out to the edge of the tarmac to watch, the
plane rolled out onto the end of the runway. With takeoff clearance granted,
the pilot ran through the last of his preflight checks and once done, sent the
jet hurtling down the runway and into the sky. The crowd on the ground murmured
speculatively amongst themselves as they watched it dwindle to a tiny dot in
the western sky and disappear from sight. Some then turned to seek out
telephones - this was news that the local media - not to mention gossip circles
- was going to want to know.
********
Admiral
Nelson wasn’t a man who liked to wait - and he had no particular fondness for
airports. Yet here he sat in the terminal of the Santa Barbara airport waiting
on a plane to come in loaded with his relatives. He shook his head as he
contemplated the events of the past few days. When he’d sent Chip Morton to
Kansas to visit his long lost family while he tried to figure out a solution to
get his sister Edith to leave the poor man alone, he’d never dreamed of such a
bizarre outcome. Cousins. He shook his head again. It could only happen aboard Seaview,
he thought to himself.
A
motion across the lounge caught his eye and he turned to see Philip Haggen
coming back from the phone call he’d gotten only seconds after they’d arrived
to await the return of the Institute’s private plane. Haggen was shaking his
head and muttering to himself as he walked, giving Nelson a fairly good idea of
how he himself had appeared much of the morning. He couldn’t help the somewhat
ironic smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Well, he had only himself
to blame.
“Trouble,
Philip?” he inquired of his security chief as the man approached.
“Huh?”
Haggen paused, refocusing on where he was. “Ah, no. That was one of my contacts in the FBI getting back with me
over the inquiry into why Chip’s mother’s family wasn’t in his personnel file.”
He scratched his head reflexively before going on. “Turns out the Feds did
check them out - Detective O’Brien was interviewed, just like he remembered.
The problem was that there was another Charles Morton that entered the Academy
the fall before - a Charles Earl Morton III. Chip’s stuff got put in his
folder.”
Frowning
in concentration, Nelson reviewed the midshipman whom he remembered from his
classes. “I don’t remember another Charles Morton.”
“If you
didn’t teach any of the Plebe classes, you wouldn’t have ever met him.”
Nelson
shook his head in negative. “All of my students were upper classmen.”
“Do
you remember anything about several midshipmen being involved in a gambling
ring and getting kicked out the just before the start of the fall term the year
Lee and Chip entered?”
Nelson
thought hard for a minute, then snapped his fingers as the details of the
incident in question floated to the surface from the depths of memory. “Of
course. They were all the sons of some very prominent politicians or
industrialists, so they were quietly dismissed, rather than being made an
example of.”
“That’s
the bunch. Anyway, the whole misunderstanding about Chip’s family was a simple
clerical error. It’s straightened out now, by the way.”
“That’s
a relief. I was a bit worried about that surfacing once it became known we were
related.”
“You
and me both, Harry. That could have been an awful can of worms. So that’s the
good news.” At Nelson’s startled look he smiled ruefully. “Nick Waskiewicz
called too. There’s been another letter.” Nelson groaned in dismay at the
revelation. “Oh, it gets better. He read it to me. Our pen pal knows Chip is
gone - and that he went to see some family in Kansas. We definitely got a leak,
Harry.”
“Damn.”
Nelson’s oath was heartfelt. “And now the family is coming back into the middle
of this. Do they know?”
Haggen
looked slightly troubled. “I know that Detective Don O’Brien knows, because we
discussed it.” He thought for a moment. “Cliff O’Brien, he’s the one who’s the
shrink, by the way, probably does. Of course Hank Morton knows - I told him
about it while he was staying here with Chip after the first of the letters
started arriving. As for the rest,” Haggen shook his head, “I don’t know if
they’ve been told or not.”
Nelson
dropped his chin on his chest and crossed his arms as he mulled over the latest
information. After a moment, he looked up at Haggen. “Not many people knew Chip
had left, let alone where he went. That’s going to greatly narrow down
the number of potential suspects.”
“Tell
me about it.” Haggen’s look was grim. “And nearly all of them are in security.
I’m beginning to think - no, I’m convinced at this point that it’s one of my
people, Harry. And that seriously pisses me off.”
“Any
that strike you as being more likely than others?”
“Well,
to tell the truth… I’ve been thinking about the information that’s gotten out,
not just the business with the Flying Sub, but also with stuff that Tobin has
come up knowing that he shouldn’t have. It seemed to be sourced on two
different shifts and going to two different destinations, which had me
wondering if we had more than one mole - but I just found out that Nole O’Hara
has been seeing one of the secretarial/switchboard supervisors on the other
shift involved. Now there’s no reason for him to be secretive about it, we
don’t have any rules against fraternization with personnel in other
departments, but he’s been keeping this awfully close under the bush. I closely
correlated everything that we know has been leaked and between the two of them
they’ve had access to all of it - plus some stuff I wish to god they didn’t
because if it’s out we could have some big problems down the line.” He threw up
his hands in exasperation. “We’ll have to redo nearly all of our protocols and
security codes.”
The
dismay on Nelson’s face mirrored that in Haggen’s heart. “Philip, is it safe
for Chip and my family to come back here?”
“I
believe so, Harry. Neither O’Hara or his girlfriend know anything about the
O’Brien clan being related to you - and I took the liberty of calling on Jiggs
again. Luis’ friends are looking to salvage their reputation.” He smiled wryly.
“Not that what happened was due to any failing on Luis’ part in the first place.
It was what happened there that got me to digging into just how Smith got past
the gate in the first place. I found Mr. O’Hara’s fingerprints all over it,
even though he tried to hide any involvement in the whole affair. But it was a
rushed job and he missed a few things. I think our pal Smith knew about him
from Horton and blackmailed him into creating a weakness in security he could
breach. And if it could be done once….”
The
grim expression on Nelson’s face told Haggen that he understood perfectly. “It
can be done again,” was the murmured answer. Both men were silent for a moment
before Nelson spoke again. “So now what, Philip? Is there a connection between
Tobin and Horton or is it a case of them both just using the same source?”
“We‘re
going to find out. Though my money says that Tobin got O’Hara into the
Institute using his ONI connections. Those same connections may very well lead
back to Horton.” Haggen had an ominous look in his eye and a blood-chilling
smile on his lips. “So I’ve set a trap to catch myself a couple of pigeons and
see if they can‘t be used to catch a rat.”
*********
The
plane had finally landed and taxied up to the terminal, braking to a stop. As
the engines on the jet spooled down, Nelson and Haggen exited the terminal
building. The pilot gave Nelson a salute from the cockpit; Jorgensen had been a
carrier aviator and it still showed even after ten years as a civilian
corporate pilot. He’d probably make more money working for someone else, but he
seemed to prefer the semi-military atmosphere of the Institute. Nelson nodded
back in acknowledgement. As he and Haggen came to a halt near the wing tip, the
soft crackling sound of the door seal being broken reached their ears. As the
door swung open, the copilot flipped out the steps and stood back to let the
passengers disembark. The first one out was Hank Morton.
“Admiral,”
he said in greeting as Nelson moved up to shake his hand.
Nelson
shook his head and laughed. “Old habits are hard to break aren’t they?”
Hank
grinned lopsidedly in reply and nodded. “I’ve known you for years now and it’s
definitely strange to think of you as my cousin Harry. I imagine it‘s even
harder for Chip.”
“It’s
going to take some readjustment all around I expect. Are you okay with the way
things worked out with your mother’s family?”
Hank
expression turned thoughtfully sober and he sighed. “It’s something that
probably should have happened years ago. The only one I really have a
legitimate beef with is my grandfather - Mom’s brothers and sisters didn’t have
anything to do with what happened. They were just as hurt as we were and what
we did made it worse.”
“And
your dad? How’s he taking it?”
The
rueful expression on Hank’s face gave him away. “Ah, I didn’t tell him.”
Nelson
winced in sympathy. “Has it gotten that bad?” He knew from conversations with
Jamison and Crane that Chip’s relationship with his father had been strained
ever since the death of his mother and sister. In the past few years, as he’d
gotten to know Hank Morton, Nelson had come to realize that there were serious
problems in both Chip’s older brother’s relationships with their father as
well.
“I’m
afraid so. I’ve been at my wits end with him for a long time now. I just hope
that he doesn’t make a scene - but I’m not going to hold my breath.”
Nelson
shook his head sadly. “I was hoping that we could avoid any negative press over
this.”
“Not
your fault, Admiral. I’ve talked to Cliff some about it on the way here. I
guess he’s right when he says that sometimes people have to get bludgeoned over
the head with the consequences of their actions before they realize that
they’ve been in the wrong - and that sometimes even that doesn’t work. Probably
a good thing Dad’s retired now from the Fire Department or there would be repercussions
there.”
“You
can call me Harry, Hank. What about Daniel?”
Hank
sighed. “Well, he’s torn, but I don’t think he’s gonna make any kind of a fuss
to upset the applecart. Dad’s been ignoring him too, so I suspect he’s not real
inclined to staunchly defend him.”
“Well,
we can always hope that nobody digs too deeply into it.”
Hank
snorted. “You can bet your last dollar that the media in Chicago will look for
any dirt they can. If it’s good news they don’t want it - sleaze apparently
sells better. No, our best bet is if the old man just simply refuses to talk to
them - and he’s very likely to do just that.”
At
this point Sammy emerged from the plane, closely followed by Don and Earl.
Hank’s lopsided grin reappeared as he waved them over. “Harry Nelson, allow me
to introduce Sammy, Earl and Don O’Brien.”
Sammy’s
eyes were huge as she looked at Nelson. “Oh, my,” she said, putting one hand to
her cheek, “Chip and Pat weren’t exaggerating when they said you looked just
like Captain Sligo. You could be his twin brother.” She reached out the other
hand and gently touched him on the chest and then the face as if to assure
herself that he was indeed real.
He
took her hand and smiled. “Chip and Pat are generally truthful, I’ve found. I’m
glad things worked out for you and him - and I’m happy to meet you finally.”
She
returned his smile. “Well, Chip always was a good kid. It was a relief to find
that he did so well for himself in the Navy.”
Nelson
then held out his hand and shook with Earl and Don. With the two of them
standing together the resemblance between Don and Nelson was unmistakable,
since both had identical hair and eye color. Where they differed the most was
in height and build. Don was tall and lean like his father, clearly Earl’s son,
yet it was clearly evident that at least part of his facial features were
elongated images of Nelson’s. Don even had the same habit of sticking his hands
in his pockets as he talked.
The
stunned expression on Haggen’s face at the picture the two men presented was
priceless. He threw up his hands and shook his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t
see the resemblance. It was right there in front of my face and I missed it.”
Don
grinned at him. “You probably noticed it, but just passed it off because you
didn’t know of a connection.” He reached out and thumped Haggen on the back in
greeting. “Think about it - Chip and Pat didn’t say anything about it either,
so you weren’t they only one who overlooked it.”
“What’d
we overlook?” The voice was Chip’s; he and the rest of the family had now
exited the plane and were gathering around Nelson and Haggen.
“The
resemblance between Don and Harry,” said Haggen, still looking somewhat
disgruntled. He indicated the two, still standing together.
Chip
smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I’d noticed that they had the same hair and eye color,
but didn’t even think about the rest of it. I knew Don was my cousin, so the
other similarities between them just didn’t seem to register. Course I did have
other things on my mind at the time…”
“Hindsight
is 20-20,” noted Don. “At any rate now that we’re all here, let me introduce
the rest of the clan.” At these words Carolyn and Janice stepped forward, since
everyone already knew Rachel. Nelson accepted hugs and even Haggen got a peck
on the cheek which caused him to blush and elicited laughter all around.
“I
think that’s our cue to load up and head for the Institute,” he mock growled,
trying to regain his equilibrium. Nelson grinned at his discomfiture, but
agreed. Haggen lifted his radio and signaled the security team to bring up the
vehicles. They quickly appeared from around the side of the terminal building
- two large black limousines sandwiched
between two dark green Chevy Suburbans. Each of the vehicles had two men inside
- a driver and an armed bodyguard.
Sammy
looked at the convoy and arched her eyebrows, then looked over at Nelson and
Haggen for an explanation. Haggen’s mouth twisted into an unhappy scowl as he
searched for an answer, uncertain as to whether or not she knew about the
letters that had been sent to Chip and Pat. She seemed to sense his dilemma -
and it’s cause. “It’s because of those letters threatening Chip and Pat, isn’t
it.”
Haggen
and Nelson both blinked at her directness. “I’m afraid so, Sammy,” admitted
Nelson, secretly relieved that she knew. He sighed. “There was another one this
morning.”
Sammy’s
mouth firmed into a thin line of determination. “It’s prudent to take
precautions then, but I have no intention of letting some coward who lurks in
the shadows ruin my visit. I came here to meet some long lost members of my
family and that’s just what I intend to do.” The stubborn streak for which
Nelson was famous was clearly evident in his cousin, making it obvious to all
present just which side of the family the admiral had inherited the trait from.
It was also mirrored in Don’s expression.
Haggen
looked over at Nelson. “I think,” he said as a wry grin spread across his face,
“that certain persons may find this family a tougher nut to crack than they
expect. It appears to me that your cousins are perfectly capable of biting
back.”
Nelson
grinned in return. “In that case, Sammy, why don’t we load up and I’ll take you
to your quarters and then give everyone the grand tour after lunch?”
She
nodded. “Sounds like a good plan to me, Harry.” Nelson held out his arm for
her; she took it and he escorted her to the first limousine. It took a few
moments, but everyone was soon sorted out and their luggage loaded. Earl, Don,
Chip and Hank rode in the first car with Nelson and Sammy, while Lee and Pat
boarded the second car with Cliff, Janice, Carolyn and Rachel. Haggen elected
to join the men in the lead escort while Ski took a seat in the other. The
motorcade pulled out as soon as everyone was seated, leaving the pilots to tend
their aircraft.
The
drive to the Institute was without incident, much to everyone’s relief. After
stopping at the gate and giving everyone their Visitor Passes, the convoy wound
its way down to the guest cottages on the west end of the Institute property.
Quarters were assigned and luggage unloaded, then everyone piled back in to
return to the main building and the cafeteria for a late lunch. Once everyone
had stuffed to their satisfaction, Nelson proposed that they all retire to his
library and lay plans for the upcoming press conference.
Nelson
led the way up to the third floor. They trouped through Angie’s office, getting
introduced on the way. Once they had passed into his office, Nelson opened the
concealed door that led into his personal library. It took some scrounging to
come up with enough chairs for everyone, since Lee, Haggen, Kowalski and
Patterson had joined them, bringing the total number of people present to
fourteen. Fortunately both the mahogany table they gathered around and the room
itself were fairly large, otherwise it
would have been uncomfortably crowded. Haggen and Nelson had chosen this room
though, because they knew that it was secure - none of their suspected moles
had access to it, and Haggen had personally swept it for bugs while the others
had been at lunch.
Nelson
decided to get right down to business. “Sammy, Chip said you brought Captain
Sligo’s personal journal and some of his papers with you.”
Don
produced a briefcase, which he set on the table and opened. Nelson arched his
eyebrows, but then had to smile as he recognized one of Chip’s traits being
displayed by his relatives. Clearly he’d inherited his penchant for order and
detail from his mother’s side of his family. Don grinned back as he handed him
several very old leather bound journals. He also took out a stack of old
tintype photographs. The top photo was the one of Captain Sligo that had so
shaken Pat and Chip and started the final unraveling of the tragedy begun by
Anne Collins parents so long ago in Ireland.
Nelson
reached over and picked it up. Haggen, Crane and Kowalski all leaned in to
look. The expressions of disbelief on their faces brought grins to the others.
“My
God,” said Haggen in awe, “he could be you.”
“It’s
incredible,” murmured Nelson, shaking his head in amazement. He passed the
picture to Crane and reached out for the next photo in the pile. This one was
Sligo’s wedding photo - it depicted him and his second wife, Josephine Bristol
Burney, along with her two children from her first marriage, plus his best man
and former bosun, Mr. Watney. Nelson couldn’t help but smile, for it was
obvious from the photo that Josephine had been taller than her husband. She had
the same tall, lean, slim shape that Chip and his brothers had inherited.
The
next picture was of the entire wedding party. Don leaned over and named each
person as he pointed them out. “The tall man is the US Marshall, Matt Dillon.
The scruffy fellow beside him is his deputy, Fetus Haggen.” He grinned at
Haggen, who snorted in derision at the description, while the others chuckled.
“Beside them is the town doctor, Galen Adams, and Kitty Russell, owner of the
Long Branch Saloon, along with her bartender Sam, and a couple of ranchers, Ed
O’Connor and a man named Halligan. On the other side of Sligo and his bride are
the priest, Father Malloy, the gunsmith Newly O’Brien, the freight agent Nathan
Burke, the banker Mr. Bodkin and Ma Smalley, who owned the local
boardinghouse.” Eyebrows had gone up at the mention of Newly O’Brien. Don
grinned and added, “Yes, Newly is my paternal great-grandfather.” Further
photos showed the Sligo family as it grew. “The last picture in the pile is of
the whole family when the youngest set of twins was about fifteen.” Don named
all of the children, spouses and grandchildren, leaving both Nelson and Chip
looking stunned. “This picture was taken when the captain was seventy nine
years old.” It was obvious that his hair had gone completely white and his skin
was weather-beaten and wrinkled, but his eyes still held an intelligent - and
mischievous - sparkle. It was for Nelson an uncanny glimpse of himself in the
future. He passed the pictures on to Haggen and the others and picked up the
first journal.
It
proved to have been written when Sligo was young man. As he thumbed through the
pages he scanned bits here and there. He read of his great-grandfather going to sea as a cabin
boy at the age of twelve and of the death of Aaron’s father, a ship’s carpenter,
a year later. The story of how he’d first seen the red-haired, blue-eyed Anne
Collins while he was still but nineteen, of their courtship and marriage
followed by her loss just eight and a half months after the wedding while he
was away at sea. His boundless grief over his wife and daughter. It was all
there in Sligo’s own hand and Nelson found himself misty eyed at times as he
read. It was perhaps even more poignant since Nelson knew that Jennifer had
indeed survived and had been deliberately denied the privilege of knowing her
father. As he picked up the other journals one by one and skimmed through them
he came to get a glimpse of his great-grandfather. He was the sort of man
Nelson might have been himself without the advantages of money and education.
He put the last journal down and looked up to find himself being watched by
Sammy.
“He
seems to have been an extraordinary man,” said Nelson, with a sad smile. He
picked up the last journal and held it almost reverently. “Would you mind if I
copied all of these?”
Sammy
smiled. “Of course not. Chip said you’d want to. We also brought his ship’s
logs from the Emerald Rose.” She paused and then added, “There are a
couple of things in there that he mentions that don’t quite make sense to any
of us, but you being a sailor, you might be able to explain what he was talking
about.”
“I can
certainly try.” He stacked the journals in a pile on the table beside him and
sighed. “As much as I’d like to sit and talk about Captain Sligo and his life,
other matters do concern us.” There were matching sighs all around the table.
“We need to decide how we want to handle the press conference tomorrow.”
There
were grimaces all around, but no one spoke up to offer any suggestions. Finally
Haggen spoke. “Harry, didn’t you tell me you have a picture of Sligo and Anne
at their wedding?” At Nelson’s nod, he continued. “Make copies of it and the
picture of him and his second wife, along with some of the pages from his
journal where Anne’s parents told him she and Jennifer were both dead. I don’t
suppose you’ve got a copy of your grandmother’s birth certificate, do you?”
Nelson
shook his head. “Edith does, but it’s in Boston.”
“Well,
it’s probably not that big a deal. Just make enough copies of everything to
pass out at the press conference.” He looked over at Hank. “There’s one
question I’m absolutely positive they’ll ask -
why it took so long for your kinship to come to light. Your best bet
there might be to say that your dad was so distraught by what happened that he
had problems dealing with it, and severed ties with his wife’s family. You can
also say that’s also why Chip came to live with you and Rachel. There’s not
going to be any way around the fact that for nearly thirty years you, Daniel
and Chip were estranged from your mother’s family and that it was the direct
result of your father’s actions.”
Hank
and Chip both looked glum. Sammy reached over and took Chip’s hand. Cliff
cleared his throat.
“Mr.
Haggen’s suggestion is very valid - it’s also as close to the truth as we can
probably come without going into any clinical details. How messy it gets after
that depends in large part on how Henry reacts to the news that Chip and Hank
are on speaking terms with their mother’s family and that Harry here is related
to you through that side of the family. For what it’s worth, Admiral, I don’t
foresee the real flap being over anything that you or Chip have done - the only
one who’s in any serious danger of being savaged in the press is Henry Morton.”
Cliff looked with sympathy at Hank and Chip. “I’m sorry. Even though Henry
brought it on himself, I know it’s going to be painful for you. I wish there
was something we could do to mitigate the damage, but…”
Hank
smiled wanly at Cliff. “I know. Things have gotten pretty bad with him for me
and Daniel, too. It’s a funny thing - in his professional life as a firefighter
it seemed like nothing changed, but on a personal front, where us three boys
were concerned, it’s like he tried to forget we existed, especially Chip. I
know it baffles our stepmother no end. She’d actually like to have a closer
relationship with us, but dad won’t let her.”
Cliff
solemnly nodded. “I’d wondered about that aspect of it. Unfortunately his part
of it is entirely out of our hands. We can only hope that the mainstream media
doesn’t decide to sensationalize the story, though I have no doubt that some of
the supermarket rags certainly will.”
Nelson
looked around the table. “I guess we’ll just have to play that part of it by
ear. The press conference is set for 11:30 AM tomorrow in the cafeteria, with a
lunch to follow. Haggen and I are hoping that if we feed the reporters that
they’ll be more charitably inclined towards us.”
Cliff
laughed. “Now that’s actually a viable strategy, Admiral. We should probably
circulate during the lunch as well.” The faces of Nelson and his people all
took on looks of dismay. Cliff held up his hand to forestall protest. “I know
none of you are particularly comfortable with the media, but the more you make
yourselves available, the more open you act, the less likely individual
reporters are to question the facts in the case.”
Don
nodded glumly in agreement. “Unfortunately he’s right. I’ve had to deal with
the press from time to time in my police work and not being forthcoming is like
waving a red flag in front of a bull. It’s a challenge very few of them can
resist.”
Nelson
and Haggen traded looks and sighed. “That’s been my experience as well, back
while I was still a county sheriff in Tennessee,” noted Haggen ruefully. “They
seem to take it as a given that anybody in authority is going to be less than
forthcoming with information.”
“Well,”
said Nelson, “I guess whether or not we want to, we need to be nice to the
media tomorrow.” He shook his head. “I think I’d rather have teeth pulled than
mix with newsies. But it doesn’t look like there’s any way around it that
doesn’t create even more problems.”
“Unfortunately
you’re right, Admiral,” said Cliff. “We just don’t have to go into a lot of
detail about some aspects of it. Besides, we can always play our hole card if
we have to.”
“Hole
card?” asked Nelson with puzzlement in his voice.
“Festus
and Philip Haggen,” said Cliff with a grin. The deer-in-the-headlights look on
the face of the NIMR security chief brought a chuckle from Nelson and smiles
around the rest of the table.
*******
Nelson
pulled at his tie to loosen it before dropping with a sigh into one of the
overstuffed chairs in his library. The rest of the family settled tiredly
around the big mahogany table as well. Thankfully the press conference was over
- finally - and all the newsies off the premises.
“I am
glad that’s over,” he commented to no one in particular, “though I must admit
that it went better than I expected.” He looked up at the sound of the door
opening to see a frazzled looking Haggen enter. “Your idea about copies of the
photos and journal worked like a charm, Philip. The kinship between myself and
Sligo was fairly obvious to all. And Sammy, you were wonderful. You had the
press charmed.”
She
smiled back but her eyes were troubled. “Thank you, Harry.” She paused for a
moment, then asked, “What’s going to happen with Henry now, I wonder? The
questions seemed pretty sharp about his role in all of this and the fact that
he wasn‘t there.”
Nelson
sighed and rubbed his temple with one hand. “I have no doubt that by now the
media is searching out Henry Morton. I left instructions with the switchboard
that if he does call, for him to be put through immediately. In truth though, I
don’t expect him to. He hasn’t in all the time that Chip has worked for me and
the Institute, not even when Chip was been nearly killed by Smith.”
Haggen
snorted, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. Don leaned forward. “Did you
find out how that Dodge City reporter came to be in the crowd?”
“Yeah,”
growled Haggen. “He had a private pilot’s license and was at the airport when
the Institute’s jet had landed. He recognized you and was so intrigued by what
he’d seen he went to the tower and got the plane’s flight plan. Deciding there
might be a story, he followed us back and after he landed, put in a call to one
of the local papers, and discovered the news about the press conference. Of
course when the staff at the local paper realized that he was himself a reporter
and had just followed Seaview’s captain from some place in Kansas, they
invited him to join their own reporters at the news conference. Gave them an
angle on the story that no one else had - much to their delight. I can’t
believe he recognized the Haggen name and asked me about Festus.” He sounded
disgusted, much to the amusement of the others.
The
door opened again, this time admitting Jamison. The doctor had used the
distraction of the press conference to have Edith quietly moved from Santa
Barbara General to the Institute’s Infirmary. He’d just come from downstairs.
“How
is she, Jamie?” asked Nelson, looking up at the doctor.
“Sleeping,”
Jamison was happy to report. “I think she’s more relaxed being back here,
knowing that the media isn’t going to be able to sneak in on her. She’ll
probably wake up in a few hours, then you can see her.”
“Thanks,
Jamie.” Nelson’s gratitude was heartfelt.
“It’s
what you pay me for,” he said with a tired smile, settling into a chair
himself. “I see that Lee and Chip aren’t here.”
“On
the boat,” grunted Haggen from his seat.
“Why
am I not surprised,” was Jamison’s droll rejoinder, which brought a weary smile
to Nelson’s face.
“I
expect they’ll be along shortly. Chip said he needed to talk to me and Haggen
about something.”
Don
stirred and looked up, a speculative expression on his face. Haggen noticed and
commented, “Any idea, Don, what he wants to discuss?”
Don
nodded slowly. “Possibly. But if it’s what I think it is, then you need to hear
it from him, not me. I don’t have all the facts and I wasn’t there.”
Nelson
raised his eyebrows, suddenly curious. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”
In
answer Don spread his hands and said, “I suppose it depends on one’s definition
of serious. It’s not something that’ll land him in jail, anyway.”
“Well,
that’s a relief,” muttered Haggen, drawing a tired chuckle from Nelson. It
looked like all they could do was wait.
*********
“You
did what?!” Lee Crane stopped in mid stride and turned to glare at his XO.
Morton
made shushing motions with his hands to get the captain to lower his voice. “I
told Don about Scathach and the business with Tobin and the alien ship. Look,
Lee, he didn’t even tell Cliff, so no one else knows. And I’m going to tell the
Admiral and Haggen about it too.”
Shaking
his head, Crane took Morton by the arm and pulled him into an empty storeroom.
Closing the door behind him, he turned to Morton and crossed his arms. “Do you
want to tell me why you did something so reckless?”
“It
wasn’t reckless… and you weren’t there.” Morton was beginning to get defensive
and Crane realized that his friend was at the point where he would put on a
bland face and shut him out if he pressed much harder.
“Okay.”
He threw up his hands. “So how did the subject come up anyway?”
“Remember
the spree killings that Don told you about on the plane? We walked into the
middle of that at the police station and it … was just more than I could handle
on top of everything else that had just happened. He took me down on the river
so I could try and get my head back on straight and it … just came out. It had
to, Lee. I’d bottled it up inside for as long as I could.” Morton’s blue eyes
had that haunted look again - the same look he’d had before going off to
Kansas.
Crane
sighed in surrender, realizing that his friend had probably come perilously
close to shattering - and wished that he’d been there to help. Nelson had
needed him, though and he simply couldn’t be in two places at once. He put a
hand on his XO’s shoulder to show his understanding and sympathy. “I can
understand that. But what about telling him about Tobin?”
“The
subject was aliens,” was Morton’s wry reply. “And since he’s part of the
family, he needs to know who his enemies are.”
There
was that, Crane had to admit. He simply shook his head, not so much in
disbelief as in resignation. “The Admiral is not going to be very happy, you
know.”
“I
know,” said Morton in a subdued voice, looking down at the floor. “There’s
something else too, Lee.” At Crane’s sharp look, Morton flinched, but continued
on. “Scathach is back. She’s the one who threw the hornets into the cab of
Smith’s truck.”
Lee
Crane’s expression was a mixture of disbelief, consternation and dismay.
********
The
doorbell rang, jarring him from his musings. Frowning, he glanced at his watch,
checking the time. It was after 20:00 hours. He’d already seen the family off
to their quarters for the night, so it probably wasn’t a social call. Groaning,
he levered himself out of the chair and made his way to the front door,
wondering all the way what disaster had come to roost on his doorstep. Pausing
in the front hall to check the security camera, he saw that his visitors were
Haggen, Crane and Morton. He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes as weariness
washed over him. For those three to be here at this time of night… Sighing, he
opened his eyes back up and continued to the door to admit the trio.
Opening
the door he gave the three a glare and asked, “Now what, Philip?”
The
security chief simply shrugged. “I’m in the dark as much as you are on this
one, Harry. Chip and Lee asked me to come over here so they could tell both of
us something.” He looked sideways at the blond officer and added, “Is this what
you wanted to talk about earlier this afternoon but didn‘t want to mention in
front of the family?” Morton swallowed nervously at Haggen’s tone but nodded
affirmation.
Nelson
sighed and motioned them in. “Couldn’t it wait till morning, Chip?” he asked as
he led then down the hall to the den.
The blond
officer ducked his head and said, “Well, maybe… I don‘t know…” He trailed off
and looked at Crane for help.
“It
was my decision to come over now, Admiral,” said Crane, sighing. “This is something
we should have told you about a long time ago. Chip was reluctant and I let it
slide. But recent developments - well, it’s time to get this out in the open so
it doesn’t cause a misunderstanding down the road.”
Nelson
and Haggen both stopped and stared at him, dread beginning to creep over their
features. Finally shaking himself back into motion, Nelson muttered, “I think I
need a refill for this.” He turned and headed to the wet bar at the back of the
den, picking up his half empty glass of Scotch on the way. Haggen followed.
“I
think I probably need a double, Harry.” He glanced back at Morton and Crane,
who were trailing behind. “What about you?” he asked.
“Can’t
with my meds,” mumbled Morton in a low tone, but they heard and nodded. Crane
just shook his head in a negative.
“How
about a Coke then?” Morton shrugged as Crane nodded. Nelson reached into the
cabinet and brought out a couple of familiar red cans. Filling two glasses with
ice he handed them to Morton and Crane and all four men settled in chairs
arranged around the fireplace.
“Okay,
Chip,” said Nelson, speaking more gently than before, “what’s the problem?”
Morton
hunched his shoulders and looked down at his hands as he gathered his thoughts.
Haggen and Nelson shared a concerned look, wondering what new and devastating
revelation they were about to hear.
Finally
Morton looked up at them and began to speak. “You remember the episode with the
alien ship, Admiral?” Nelson blinked in surprise, wondering what that had to do
with what was going on now, but nodded. Haggen’s eyebrows rose towards his
hairline. “Ah, they weren’t the first nonhuman sentients I’d ever encountered.”
A thunderous silence followed as he paused.
Slowly
Nelson leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. “Are you talking
about another alien race, Chip?”
The
normally cool and collected Morton was clearly floundering. “I don’t know if
they’re aliens or not, Admiral,” he said with a hint of desperation in his
voice, “I just know they aren’t human. I … I first met them the summer my
mother and sister were killed…”
“Does
Don know about this?” asked Haggen abruptly, suddenly remembering Don’s odd
statement from earlier in the afternoon.
Morton
made a small nod of confirmation and added, “Lee knows too - he’s known about
them since we were roommates at the Academy.”
“What?!”
roared Nelson, leaping from his seat to glare at the hapless officers, “And
neither of you thought I ought to know?!” He was both incredulous and furious.
Haggen
had remained seated, looking thoughtful. As Nelson opened his mouth again to
blast his captain and XO, Haggen’s voice cut him off with the words, “Harry,
the least you can do is sit down and listen to their explanation. They may have
a very valid reason for not coming forward sooner. After all, you’ve trusted
these two with your life and they’ve never let you down. And Chip is
your own blood kin.”
Nelson’s
fury wavered with the calm words and the memory of his fight with Edith - and
it’s appalling consequences - suddenly surfaced in his mind, further quenching
his ire. That wasn’t a mistake he wanted to repeat with another member of his
family. His shoulders slumped and he let out a heavy sigh. Walking the few feet
back to his chair, he patted Morton on the shoulder as he passed. “I’m sorry,
Chip. I should know better than to jump to conclusions without even hearing
what you have to say.” He felt Morton flinch at his touch and his own
conscience snorted in derision. A fine way to treat your own cousin, it
told him, he’s scared of you.
“It’s
okay, Admiral.” Morton refused to look up as he spoke. “I should have told you
this a long time ago, but I thought they were gone and I had no proof that
they‘d ever existed. My dad … my dad told me I was crazy for believing in them.
Now I know that they aren’t gone - or that they’ve come back - I don’t know
which.” He sighed and kept his gaze on the floor as he nervously picked at the
seam of his shirt cuff.
“Maybe
you should start at the beginning then and tell me everything.” Nelson sank
back into his chair with a growing feeling in his gut that this story was
somehow tied closely to recent events involving Smith and that telling it would
be traumatic for Morton. He resolved to keep his temper in check. His sister
was in the hospital because he’d lost it - he didn’t want his cousin Chip
winding up there too.
Morton
took a deep breath and closed his eyes. In a soft voice he began with his first
meeting of Scathach under the pier that day. “I’m not sure, but I think it was
in early May, maybe two months after Cassie and I had turned six. I do remember
it being afternoon. We’d just moved to Searsport a month or so before, a couple
of weeks after Smith had married my mom. I still hadn’t made any friends -
Smith make it pretty clear he didn’t want me bringing anybody home and he kinda
scared the neighbors. Every once in a while he’d get crazy drunk and I learned
pretty quick to make myself scarce when he did. This was one of those days.”
Morton paused at this point and Crane reached over to put a hand on his
shoulder in a silent show of support.
“Smith
was pretty wild that day, so I’d taken off for the beach - I’d discovered an
old half ruined pier not too far from home. As rocky as the shore was, he never
did try to come down after me, especially when he’d been drinking. So this day
I got to my bolt hole - and discovered I
had company.”
Nelson
leaned forward, head cocked, an eyebrow arched. “You found an alien under the
pier?”
“Actually,
I thought she was a Selkie, though she really looked more like a cat. Or rather
an otter, as I came to realize latter. She told me her name was Scathach.” He
threw up his hands. “Admiral, I was six years old. It’s been an awfully long
time since I’ve seen them up close. Sometimes the details aren’t so clear to me
anymore.”
“A
Selkie.” Nelson turned a thoughtful look to Crane. “Is this what he told you at
the Academy?” At the nod of affirmation he turned back to Morton. “Do the best
you can, Chip. We’ll sort it out later if need be.” He kept his tone neutral,
but was beginning to understand why the two had kept silent for so many years.
Telling anybody that he’d encountered a Selkie would have gotten Morton a
medical discharge for mental instability. “Describe this - Scathach - for me as
best you can.”
“Well,
she was about the same height as my mother, about five foot four, but I
remember she had very short legs and arms, long in the body. Sort of catlike
face, but very small ears on the sides of her head. Fur, all over, thick; I
remember it being so thick and soft. She was a medium grey color, some darker
swirls, striping, though the others that I met later were a variety of colors.
Black, brown, red - gold wasn‘t very common, at least not in any of the ones I
met. Don’t remember meeting any with white fur, though a lot of them had white
patches. Webbed toes. Definitely webbed toes. Odd undertones in their speech.”
Morton paused to take a drink of his Coke. “They spoke good English though.”
“How
many of them were there?”
“I
have no idea. Enough to crew that big sub of theirs at the very least.”
“Sub?”
Nelson looked disconcerted. He’d gone from thinking aliens to possible native
life-form, but an advanced technology threw the conclusion back into doubt.
Unless it was something they’d copied from humans.
“A
submarine, Admiral. From what little I remember about the boat it had to have
been a true submarine, too. Rounded hull, diving planes on the sail. Even had
windows in the bow like Seaview, though this boat was black. And it
seemed huge to me. They took me with them a
couple of times on short cruises. I remember seeing the dolphins playing
above in the light just like that time on the Seaview.” He looked up at
Nelson as he added, “That’s why I acted so odd that day. The memories were
trying to come back, but I was repressing them.” He rubbed the palms of his
hands nervously on his pants. “I can’t remember the name of the boat or a whole
lot about it. They taught me a little bit of their language, but I’ve forgotten
most of it. I just get bits and pieces floating up now and then.”
Leaning
back in his chair, Nelson mulled over what Morton had told him. “How often did
you see them, Chip?”
“Nearly
every day.” At Nelson’s arched eyebrow he added defensively, “We lived near the
beach. It was rugged and rocky so not too many people were out and about. I’d
sneak out early and usually one of them would be there in a small boat to get
me. We’d go sailing or swimming or just walk down a deserted stretch of beach
looking at whatever caught my eye. Whoever was with me would try to answer all
my questions.” He paused, clearly remembering as a small sad smile flitted
across his face. “It was usually Scathach or another Dawimhlar named Faileas
who’d be with me.”
“How
long did this go on?” This time the question came from Haggen, who was looking
contemplatively over his glass at him.
“Until
the day Smith killed my mother and sister.” At this point Morton dropped his
head again and hunched his shoulders defensively. Crane looked over at Nelson
and Haggen, his expression guarded.
Sighing
deeply as he lowered his eyes, pretending to study the ice in his glass, Nelson
remained silent, suddenly uncharacteristically unwilling to press the issue,
even though his curiosity was now thoroughly aroused - he wasn’t sure he wanted
to hear the details of what had transpired on that particular day.
However,
Haggen did. “Chip, I’ve read the police report - would you mind filling in the
details?” He glanced over at Nelson as the Admiral shifted uneasily in his
seat. “Obviously there’s no mention of these - what did you call them?
Dawimhlar? - in the police report.”
Lifting
his head, Morton looked at Haggen with a
baffled expression. “I’d gathered that over the years from what I wasn’t
asked in various security interviews.” Shaking his head in bewilderment he
added, “I’ve never entirely understood why not. Scathach was the only reason I
survived - and I told the cops that. I guess they just didn’t believe me.”
The
sip of Scotch that Haggen had been about to swallow exploded back out in a
sudden spray as he nearly choked in surprise. “What?!” He gaped in slack jawed
astonishment at Morton as Nelson jerked his head up to stare in shock as well.
“They were there when it happened?!”
“Not
at the beginning,” sighed Morton. “If any of them had been, my mother and
sister would likely still be alive. No, Scathach broke the door down just as he
was coming after me.” A poignant sadness settled in his eyes and he looked away
to hide his emotions.
“Jesus,
Chip,” breathed Haggen, stunned, “the police report assumed that you were in
another room when he attacked your mother and sister. That you got away because
you heard what was happening and ran for the neighbor. Are you saying that isn’t
what happened?”
“Yeah.”
Morton shifted in his seat, clearly reluctant to go on until Crane reached over
and again laid a hand on his arm in support. “Cassie and I were home alone with
him that day while Mom was at work. We should have been enrolled in
school - but he hadn’t let Mom do it. I’ve often wondered if that wasn’t one of
the things that finally clued her in that something wasn’t right -because she
came home early that day.” He paused to take a deep breath before continuing.
“She caught him red handed … with Cassie. That’s when things really came
unglued. I tried to stop him when he went after Mom with a knife - he threw me
into a wall and stunned me. It seemed to happen so fast - he killed both of
them before I could get back up. He was coming for me when Scathach busted the
back door in. She yelled at me to run and then she jumped into the middle of
him.” At this point he closed his eyes and went silent for a moment. The
struggle to maintain his equilibrium was clearly evident on his face.
Opening
his eyes and taking in a shuddering breath, he finally continued. “When the
cops finally made it over to the house, Smith was gone. I don’t think they
initially believed me, because they took me back to the house with them looking
for my mother.” He shivered in recollection of the horrific scene they’d found
inside. “There was blood splashed everywhere - floor, walls, even on the
ceiling. As soon as they saw that they hurried me back outside. I…I caught a
brief glimpse of Scathach in the bushes. She was bloodied pretty bad - I think
Smith slashed her across the face. She disappeared before any of the cops saw
her though.”
He
faltered again for a moment before taking his narrative back up. “That was the
last time I saw any of the Dawimhlar until the day Smith came back to try and finished
the job.” Casting a sideways look at Haggen he added, “I think it was Scathach
who threw the hornets in the cab of the truck. It looked like the cloak she
always wore ashore, anyway.” He paused, a bit of an embarrassed flush creeping
up his neck. “I’d didn’t mention to the police that I thought that’s who it was
because I first thought I’d hallucinated it. Until I found out Pat had seen her
too, that is.”
The
security chief sat frozen for a moment before lifting his eyes heavenward in
silent supplication. “As if things weren’t complicated enough around here,” was
his barely audible mutter, “now we got aliens.”
“Chip,
do you have any idea why you never saw them again?” Nelson was rubbing his
forehead in a manner suggestive of a headache.
“Probably
because at that point my dad came and got me and took me back to Chicago. They
couldn’t have very well sailed their boat up there unnoticed, even if they’d
known where I’d gone. People would have probably noticed something that big in
the Saint Lawrence River - especially in the locks going around Niagara Falls.”
A smile briefly twitched at his lips as he took a sip of his Coke, then his
expression turned somber again. “My dad never let me go down to the lakefront,
so even if they had been around, they would have had to come inland, into the
city, to find me. They really do hate being on dry land very far from the
water.” He turned his glass thoughtfully as he paused, organizing his thoughts.
“Wherever they’re from, I believe they truly are marine mammals. They have all
the physical characteristics for it.”
“Do
you have any idea of why they were here?”
Morton
cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “I don’t think they’re planning on
conquering us if that’s what you’re asking. They knew an awful lot about human
history, and I got the impression they’d been around for a very long time
observing us.”
“Good
lord…“ Nelson trailed off, lost in thought. Dear God, what if they are a
native species? They would have been witness to the worst that mankind had to
offer over a period of millennia. In their shoes I certainly wouldn’t want to
have anything to do with the human race. He absently stroked the side of
his glass with his thumb as his mind considered the possibilities. Even if they
were aliens, it was obvious they’d had contact with this world since at least
the period just after WWII, if not before. He grimaced at the thought of that
time period having been their introduction to humanity. And Smith… His
mind skittered away from the implications. If they are still around, there
has to be a compelling reason. Either they are native to Earth or… It
suddenly hit him. “Our nearest neighbors,” he muttered out loud. The others
looked at him in incomprehension. “These creatures could be our nearest
celestial neighbors. It would explain why they can disappear so completely for
long periods of time, but keep coming back. They’re stuck with us as
neighbors.” He shook his head in dismay at the thought. “I shudder to think of
some of the things they could have witnessed.”
The
disconcerting thought held them all silent for a few moments. Haggen finally
set his glass down on the arm of his chair and leaned forward to speak. “Well,
they obviously haven’t been disgusted to the point of blowing us away, if they
have that capability. Which, if they truly are from another world, it is pretty
much a given they would have. But what I want to know is - why are they back
now?” Haggen cut his eyes sideways towards Nelson. “And better yet, why are they
so interested in Chip?”
They
were questions no one had an answer for.
***********
Haggen
leaned back in the chair in front of Nelson’s desk and sipped at a cup of
coffee as he eyed his friend and employer warily. Chip Morton’s revelations of
the night before had kept them up well past midnight as they had searched for
clues in the young officer’s memories of just what the creatures he knew as the
Dawimhlar might actually be - or what their agenda was. Unfortunately, Morton
didn’t know enough to provide any really solid answers except one. They
definitely weren’t human. As to their purposes in befriending him as a child
and again saving his life when the killer John Smith had returned to finished
him off, no one could say with certainty. The lack of answers was unsettling,
particularly with intelligence leaks somewhere in the Institute. This was
information none of them wanted in the hands of Nelson’s enemies - certainly
not before they had the answers themselves.
A
light tap on the door interrupted his ruminations.
“Enter,”
growled Nelson, not bothering to lift his gaze from the papers he was reading.
Don
O’Brien cautiously stuck his head in. “Is it safe to come in?”
Looking
up, Nelson laid the papers down on the desk and motioned his cousin into the
room. “I think we need to talk, Don.”
“I
figured as much,” he acknowledged, coming on in. “Chip left me a message that
he’d told you about his… encounter. And I‘ll have a cup of coffee, if I‘m not persona
non gratis yet.”
Nelson
harrumphed as Haggen snickered into his cup, but the security chief got up to
find the detective a cup.
Settling
in the other chair in front of the desk, Don took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Before you ask, Chip only told me about the day of the murders, that Scathach
had finally nailed Smith and about the stuff he found in his car. He didn’t go
into a lot of detail. And just for the record, he briefly mentioned an episode
involving an Admiral Tobin and a different species, but again, he didn’t go
into any real detail. I gathered from what he did say that Tobin is not a
particular fan of yours and just being your cousin would put me on the
bastard’s shit list as well.”
“So he
told me last night. Who else knows about the incident with Tobin?” Nelson was
clearly not happy that Don knew about the situation.
“No
one,” said Don with a sigh. “I haven’t even told Cliff. Look, Harry, I’m a cop.
I deal in facts and tangible evidence. I believe everything Chip has told me,
but what proof have I got? I wasn’t even there - but you were. You’re a four
star admiral and a highly respected scientist and I don’t see you up in
front of the cameras telling the world about it. I figure there’s a reason for
it, so I’m not going to rock the boat without a real compelling reason to. As
for Chip‘s first encounter,” he looked Nelson straight in the eye, “I wouldn’t
do that to him.”
Nelson
looked thoughtfully back at him for a moment before nodding. Glancing over at
Haggen as he was starting to put the pot back into the coffee maker, Nelson
spoke. “Philip, just bring the coffee pot back over here with you to the desk.
I have a feeling we’re going finish it off before long.”
Haggen
stopped for a moment and reflected. “You know Harry, I do believe you’re
right.”
“Damn
right I’m right,” was Nelson‘s reply.
Haggen
returned, handed Don his cup and then sank back into his own chair with an
audible groan. “God, just what we need now - more aliens,” he growled as he
refilled his own cup before setting the pot on one edge of Nelson’s desk.
“If
that’s what they really are,” said Crane’s voice from the doorway. The three
men looked up to see Seaview’s captain and doctor in the doorway. The
admiral waved the two of them in to join them.
Nelson
lifted his eyes from his cup to look at Crane. “You don’t think so?” he
inquired.
Crane
paused to collect a cup of coffee for himself and the doctor before pulling up
two more chairs for them to sit beside Don. “I’m still not sure, Admiral. Back
when Chip first told me about them, he was sure they were Selkies - or at least
the source of the legend. If that’s true, then they’ve been around for a very
long time. It’s entirely possible they could be native to this planet. After
all, look at how little we know of the deep oceans.”
“So
why haven’t they ever contacted us?” Jamison wanted to know.
“Doc,”
Don answered, “I asked Chip much that same question and he pointed out to me
that humanity’s track record on interspecies relations is less than stellar.
They’re probably afraid of us - or rather people like this Tobin that he’s
mentioned.”
The
flinch on Nelson’s face showed that Don’s comment had hit a nerve. Crane’s look
of chagrin mirrored the Admiral’s. Even Haggen’s expression was rueful at the
acknowledgement of the painful truth of the statement Don had just made. All
five men were silent for several moments as they wrestled with the bleak
reality the words invoked.
“Lee
said that last night you suggested that they were our nearest celestial
neighbors. That would also explain a lot,” Jamison said thoughtfully, cocking
his head to one side as he too considered the puzzle the Dawimhlar represented.
“It would also mean the issue isn’t going to go away.” He paused, looking
contemplative. “I wonder what planet they’re from?”
“Nothing
in this solar system, Jamie. Mercury has never been capable of supporting life
as we know it. Venus is hot, over 800 degrees, with a dense, toxic atmosphere
and bone dry. Mars is also too dry, though it’s cold. Ditto for any of the
outer planets or moons. As comfortable as they seem to be on earth, they’d have
to have evolved in a similar environment, which would suggest that they are
from another star system.”
“Or
they evolved here before we did and left,” mused Jamison. “From what Lee
described to me, they are unusually comfortable in our environment, so their
world would have to be not just similar to but virtually identical to ours.
What are the odds of that?” His question was directed at Nelson, who clearly
looked uncomfortable at the doctor’s suggestion.
“I
really don’t know the answer to that, Jamie.”
“Well,
if nothing else, their actions towards Chip would suggest that they aren’t
inherently hostile towards humans. That and the fact they haven‘t exterminated
us.” Jamison said, unknowingly echoing Haggen’s observations of the night
before. He sighed, then sipped at his coffee, his mind assessing what little
information they had. “If they are from another planet, their technology would
obviously have to be more advanced than ours.” He paused. “Even if they’re from
this planet, that could still be true.”
“True,”
noted Crane. “The sub Chip described sounds too advanced for the time period to
simply be a copy of anything we had.”
“Sounds
a hell of a lot like Seaview, if you ask me,” muttered Haggen into his cup.
“Sure you haven’t met them yourself, Harry?”
His
answer was a sigh. “Not that I recall, Philip.” Smiling ruefully, Nelson added,
“It could just be a case of great minds thinking alike.” He’d wondered the same
thing himself when Morton had described the Dawimhlar boat, but try as he
might, he couldn’t recall having ever seen the vessel himself or having it
described to him.
Laughing,
Jamison nodded agreement. “I suppose that’s entirely possible. Oh, by the way,
Becca sends hello to everyone and tell you she’s sorry she wasn’t here to meet
your family, Admiral, but with her sister being sick back in Oklahoma, she just
had to go.”
Nelson
waved a dismissal. “Not a problem, Jamie. I truly understand. There will be
opportunities at a later date for them to meet.”
“If
there’s nothing else on the agenda, Admiral,” interjected Crane, “I need to get
back to the boat and help Chip, since Doc’s only cleared him for light duty.”
The
doctor arched his eyebrows and quipped, “If you ever get married to Lynn they’ll
have to charge you with bigamy. You’re already married to Seaview.” The
remark drew muffled snorts of laughter from everyone but Crane; he gave the
doctor a look of mock disdain.
“I’m
going to pretend I never heard that, Jamie. So if you gentlemen, and I use the
term loosely, will excuse me, I have things to do.” He rose gracefully and
tossed the now empty Styrofoam cup into the trashcan, before proceeding out the
door.
Jamison
stood as well. “Speaking of Mr. Morton, he’s due for a checkup, so I’m heading
over to the boat myself. Is there anything else you want to clue me in on?”
After receiving negatives all around, the doctor followed the Seaview’s
captain out.
Once
the two had left, Haggen rocked thoughtfully back in his chair. “I’m wondering
why, if Chip told the police about Scathach, there’s absolutely no mention of
it in the files.”
“I was
wondering that myself,” noted Don. “Perhaps you should look into that.”
“I
will. The problem is that all of the detectives involved in the case
have died - something the newsies discovered right after Smith put in his
appearance.” Grimacing, he levered himself to his feet. “Admiral, I’m going to
go make some calls. If you’ll excuse me…” Nelson waved a hand in dismissal.
“I
guess it’s just you and me, Harry. Is there anything in particular that you’ve
got planned for today?” Don leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on
the edge of Nelson’s desk.
“Since
answers for this particular problem don’t seem to be forthcoming just yet…”
Nelson paused, a faintly ironic expression on his face as he shook his
head. “Sammy had mentioned she had some
questions about some of the entries in the Emerald Rose’s logs.
Yesterday I told her we might look those over today after everyone had breakfast.
For lack of a better plan, I guess we’ll follow through with that.”
**********
Haggen
was leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, listening to Nelson and his
family going through the logs of the Emerald Rose when his pager beeped.
Sitting up, he pulled it out and looked at the number displayed. It was Nick
Waskiewicz’s. His eyes narrowed as he considered the reasons his second in
command might be paging him at this time of day and few of them were good. He
looked over at Nelson, who simply nodded. Intending for his conversation to be
private, Haggen got to his feet and headed out the door into Nelson’s office to
use the phone there rather than the one in the library.
He’d
just picked it up and dialed when he realized that Don had followed him out.
Before he could say anything, however, Waskiewicz was on the line.
“What’s
the problem, Nick?”
“Your
trap just got sprung, but not by O’Hara.”
“What?!
If it wasn’t O’Hara then who the hell was it?” Haggen couldn’t quite believe
his ears.
“Irene
Porter.” Nick sounded exhausted.
“The
girlfriend? Shit. Have you got her in custody?” He would have bet money on the
mole being O’Hara and Porter being a tool. Well, that still wasn’t impossible.
O’Hara could have sent her to retrieve the bait if he suspected a trap.
“No.
She shot two of the SEALs and got away. They weren‘t killed outright, thank
God, but Jamison had us life-flight both of them to Santa Barbara for emergency
surgery. O’Hara’s missing, but his car is still here and there’s blood on the
chair in his office. We’re searching for both of them, but now I’m wondering
just who was the real traitor and whether or not O’Hara is even still alive.
I’ve already alerted the FBI and the county sheriff has been asked to secure
her apartment. Whoever - whatever- she is, it’s clear she’s not just a
secretary. The moves she put on the guys trying to arrest her were way too
professional. She almost has to be an agent.”
Haggen
swore fluently, causing Don to look somewhat askance at him. “Call up some of Seaview’s
crew for extra manpower to look for O’Hara,” he directed. “I’ll join you as
soon as I inform the Admiral.” Hanging up, Haggen looked at Don and sighed.
“The part I hadn’t mentioned before concerning the letters was that we had a
couple of suspects - not as the writer, but as a source for the information
that was showing up in them. I set a trap and it’s been sprung - but … one of
the suspects is definitely not what they were supposed to be and the other is
missing under circumstances that could mean foul play.”
“Could
you use my help?” asked Don.
Cocking
his head to one side, Haggen considered it. Don was probably one of the few
people he could unconditionally trust right now, and being a cop, he was
probably as capable as any of the security people at handling himself. “I need
someone I can trust to guard Edith - I’ll get you a gun as soon as I’ve told
Harry what’s going on. It would probably be best if everyone else stayed here
until we’ve either located the suspects or determined that they are off the Institute’s
grounds.”
*********
Crane
and Morton were just entering the Seaview’s control room when two of the
security people scrambled breathlessly down the ladder in search of them.
Snapping to attention and saluting while getting back their wind, the senior of
the two men, one of Jiggs SEALs, then stepped forward to address the captain.
“Sir,
Mr. Haggen’s respects, but we’ve got a crisis and he’d like some of Seaview’s
crew to help in an armed search for Mr. O’Hara. He’s missing. His girlfriend,
Irene Porter, is apparently an enemy agent. She’s escaped and is to be presumed
armed and dangerous.”
Taken
aback, Crane looked at Morton, who looked stunned at the news. He’d dated the
woman a couple of times before Smith had made his return. Signaling the two
security men to follow, Crane turned and headed for the radio shack, where he
had Sparks put a call through to the Security Office to confirm the
information. Haggen had just walked in when the call came.
“Haggen,”
said Crane tersely, “I’ve got two of your security people here telling me that
O’Hara’s missing and that one of the secretarial supervisors is suspected of
being an enemy agent. What the hell is going on?!”
“Captain,
I set a trap for our mole.” He paused for a moment, considering his next words.
“It caught more than I anticipated. I’d thought that O’Hara was our mole, but
it was Miss Porter who took the bait. When my people went to arrest her, she
took both of them down. I think you’ll agree that’s hardly the actions of a
mere secretary.”
Crane
grunted in response, his mind whirring rapidly with the implications of the
information. “How many people do you need and what do you want them to do?”
“As
many as you can spare off the boat, who have weapons skills, especially in
close hand combat. I need search teams to find O‘Hara - we think he may be
somewhere on the grounds, injured or dead. And to sweep for Porter, to see if
she‘s still on the premises or if she‘s made a clean getaway.”
“I’ll
see what I can do.” Hanging up, Crane began issuing terse orders and in a
matter of only a few moments several dozen members of Seaview’s crew
were armed, divided into teams of three, briefed, and ready to go. Once all of
the teams but one had been assigned search areas, Crane turned to study the
last trio. Sharkey, Kowalski and Patterson waited impatiently to be off, with
Morton hovering behind them. They weren’t going to like what he was about to
say.
“Mr.
Morton, you are to take yourself back to the Admiral’s office and stay there.
That’s an order,” he added, before Morton could do more than open his mouth to
protest. “Chief, you and your team are to be the bodyguards for the Admiral and
his family.” He held up a hand to forestall any of their protests as well. “I
know you’d like to be one of the search teams, but until we catch these people,
I want to make sure that the Admiral and his family aren’t in harm’s way. And
right now, Chip, you fall into the classification of family. You haven‘t been
released back to duty yet.” He looked hard at his friend, who glared back for
nearly a full minute before dropping his eyes to indicate acquiescence, albeit
unwilling.
Taking
their leave, the four men set out for the main building. Morton chafed under
the restriction, but had to admit, at least privately, that if the tables had
been turned and it was Crane who was recovering from an injury that he’d have
gotten the Admiral to issue the same orders. They reached the Admiral’s office
without incident and Morton walked in to find most of the family still
ensconced in the library with Nelson, along with Angie. It made him feel
somewhat less constricted to realize that Nelson was for once taking Haggen’s
advice and staying out of the hunt. Don and Jamison were missing though - Chip
realized that his cousin was probably putting his police experience at Haggen’s
disposal while the doctor was downstairs keeping watch over Edith. His
supposition was confirmed by the Admiral’s first words.
“Chief,
Jamie wants to move Edith up here with us - he and Don feel the Infirmary is
too exposed to attack and Edith too tempting a target. Ski, I want you go down
and help them with the gurney. The rest of us will move some furniture to make
room.”
Kowalski
immediately pivoted about and headed out the door. Nelson, Cliff, Hank and
Sharkey began moving desks, tables and chairs, clearing a path through both the
inner and outer offices to the library. Chip helped Patterson and the others
move chairs and books out of the way. By the time they’d finished, Kowalski had
reappeared with Doctor Jamison and Frank, one of the medical corpsmen, pushing
a gurney with a bewildered Edith Nelson aboard. Don followed them, hand on his
gun, acting as rearguard. They pushed the gurney into the far corner of the
library, where Jamison and Frank then busied themselves with getting IV’s
rehung, pillows adjusted and blankets arranged. Cliff, along with Sammy and the
other women, gathered to help the doctor and keep Edith occupied, while
Sharkey’s team put their heads together with Nelson, Chip, Don and Hank and
went over their security procedures.
The
wait was nerve wracking. Minutes seemed to drag by like hours. Every few
moments either Nelson or Sharkey would go to the windows and peep through the
blinds to see what was going on outside. Which wasn’t much, since the windows
on this front side of the building all faced south towards the ocean, with
nothing but the road and a grassy expanse down to the bluff to be seen. Below
the bluff, the Southern Pacific coastal railroad paralleled the beach, but both
were out of view from Nelson‘s office suite. All of the parking lots and other
structures on the grounds, with the exception of two, were either behind or to
the west of the main building, so they could not be seen from the front either.
While it made for a wonderful view, it did tend to leave observers at the front
of the building in the dark about events occurring anywhere else on the
Institute’s grounds.
It was
nearly 17:00 hours - 5:00PM - and hours after he’d left, when a grim faced
Haggen reappeared at the door to fill them in. As Nelson ushered him into the
inner sanctum of the library, Sharkey vacated a chair, allowing him to sink
tiredly into it. Sammy brought him a cup of coffee, from which he gratefully
took a sip as he organized his thoughts. Don, Chip and Sharkey hovered close to
hear what he had to say.
“So,
how bad is it?” It was obvious Nelson would have liked to pace while they
talked, but with so many people crowded into the room, it just wasn’t
practical.
Haggen
looked at his boss and friend and sighed. “We finally found O’Hara - he‘s dead.
He’d been shot in the back of the head and stuffed in a ventilation vent. We
haven’t found Porter, but the sheriff’s deputies were able to secure her
apartment in Goleta before she got back to sanitize it. I sent Nick over there
- he’s assessing it now. I just got off the phone with him about fifteen
minutes ago and he says from what he’s seen so far it looks like the woman may
be an agent for the People’s Republic. It also looks like she had a second
cohort - one of the techs, Randall Blythe, who’s also missing. Offhand, since
he had access to the Flying Sub, I’d say we’ve found our saboteur as well as
our mole. So we’re still searching all the places you could put a body, looking
for him as well, just in case she decided to cut her losses like she did with
O’Hara. In any event, I’ve notified the Highway Patrol, the FBI, ONI and the
CIA. There’s a consider armed and dangerous all-points bulletin out for both of
them right now.”
Nelson
sank into a chair with a groan as he shook his head in dismay. “Three. Damn.
Tobin’s going to have a field day with this.”
“Maybe
not. Nick said he’d found some stuff that suggested our spy had ties to Tobin -
which we‘d suspected anyway, if you‘ll recall. Just what kind of ties they were
he’s still checking out, but it looks like there’s going to be more than enough
shit to get spread all around. It‘s possible that Tobin is in this a lot deeper
than anyone dreamed.” Taking another sip of his coffee, he yawned, revealing
his fatigue. “Besides - we knew we had a problem and were looking for it. It’s
not like someone on the outside busted the case. And as soon as I’m sure that
all of the moles and saboteurs are all caught, dead or have gotten away, I’ll
get the ball started on changing all of our security passwords and protocols.
I’ve had the computer mainframe locked down and taken off-line so no one can
access it from outside. I even had Mr. O’Brien lock down Seaview’s
mainframe as well, just as a precaution. I’ve also got a team going over
everything the three of them had access to, checking to see if we can determine
just how much damage they did.”
At
this point his pager beeped, startling all of them. Plucking the offending
instrument from his belt and looking at it, he saw that the call was from Irene
Porter’s home phone, so it was most likely Nick Waskiewicz on the line. He
tiredly reached for the phone that sat on the library table and dialed the
number. As he’d surmised, his second was the one who answered.
“What
do ya got, Nick?” The others saw him grimace only seconds into the conversation
so they knew that the news probably wasn’t good. His next words, addressed to
them, confirmed it. “They just found Blythe - shot in the head and dumped in a
ditch off US 101. Porter’s off the grounds it looks like - and burning her
bridges behind her.” Haggen went silent as Waskiewicz imparted more
information. His grimace turned into a scowl and the look of fury that blazed
into his eyes gave some of those present pause. After a few moments he said,
“I’ll pass it on to the Admiral,” then hung up the phone. He was silent for a
few moments more, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular.
Finally
giving himself a mental shake, he turned back to the impatiently waiting
Nelson. “Nick found out why Blythe was working with that woman. Seems he had a
taste for kiddie porn.” His own look of disgust was mirrored in the faces
around him. “She’d found out and was blackmailing him into giving her
information - and into planting those devices on the Flying Sub that brought it
down.”
“What
about O’Hara?” growled Nelson, mentally bracing himself to hear more
distasteful news about one of his employees.
“Now
that is a real question,” said Haggen, turning thoughtful. “Nick found some
stuff she supposedly got from him - and it’s almost entirely bogus. If she
passed it on to whoever her employers are, it wouldn’t have done them any
good.”
Nelson’s
eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Could it be a plant she left to throw us off
the track? Make us think she didn’t get much?”
“It’s
possible.” He shook his head as he considered potential scenarios. “It’s
equally possible he discovered who she was and was running an op on his own,
trying to catch her. He was the ambitious type. Probably angling for my job. Or
else he was working for somebody else besides her or us.”
There
were snorts from several of the men. If O’Hara had indeed discovered who she
was and not told anyone at NIMR, then he was, at best, a fool, unless, like
Haggen had suggested, he was working for another of the Admiral‘s enemies. Had
Haggen known about her, he could have taken the appropriate steps to limit the
damage she could cause them and then hopefully catch her without anyone being
injured. As it was, there were two men in critical condition in Santa Barbara
General Hospital and two in the morgue.
*******
Porter
crouched in the bushes on the hill above her apartment complex and silently
raged as she watched the police and NIMR security swarming all over the place. Damn
that O’Hara! He was a NSA plant all along and nearly everything he gave me was
garbage! Once my contacts back in the People’s Republic realize that I
was duped into funneling them bad information by American Intelligence I’m
dead. She wanted to scream, but instead she crept silently away. Good
thing I set up a couple of bolt holes and stashed away cash and forged
identification documents.
Slipping
down the other side of the hill, she carefully checked to make sure no one was
around before stepping out of the bushes and getting behind the wheel of her
car. Looking in the mirror, she checked to make sure that her dishwater-blonde
wig was on straight and that her brown colored contacts weren’t noticeable.
Amazing how something as simple as a change of eye color combined with a
different hair style and color could make a cop’s eyes slide right past you. Of
course, it helped too that she’d changed clothes, from her sexy secretary outfit
with it’s short skirt and tight sweater to a frumpy housewife look. She’d also
ditched her sporty red Javelin and stolen an aging Buick sedan from an elderly
couple that lived back off the highway several miles from where she’d ditched
Blythe‘s body. She’d be able to keep it until someone missed the pair - since
she’d killed both of them they weren’t going to be reporting the car stolen.
Still, it would probably be wise to retreat to one of her bolt holes and change
identities, then purchase a used car. Starting up the Buick, she put it in gear
and drove away, deep in thought.
As she
progressed further from her apartment, her anger deepened, along with her
paranoia. Nelson must have known O’Hara was an NSA operative, which meant
that they knew all along who I was. Well, that would certainly account for
Morton being able to bring the Flying Sub down on the beach - and the fact that
two US Navy destroyers were lying in wait for the sub that was supposed to
collect both him and FS1.I’d be willing to bet the whole thing was staged -
there is no way that fool Morton could have landed FS1 like that if it had been
a real emergency. It also probably means that Blythe wasn’t what he had seemed
to be either, so how much of his information was bogus as well? She snarled
with barely suppressed fury as she gripped the steering wheel so tightly that
her knuckles turned white. I’m glad I killed both of them - they deserved it
for playing me for a fool!
It
didn’t take her long to reach her destination. She’d decided on a place not far
from her apartment on the theory that the more time passed, the farther afield
the search would spread, on the assumption that she’d be trying to get as far
away as possible. Well, she’d sit tight and get inside their search circle.
They wouldn’t expect that. The other thing about this particular location was
that there was a large shed behind the house big enough to hide the car in. If
she was careful to avoid being seen, the place would continue to appear to be
abandoned.
Once
she’d accomplished the task of getting the car out of sight and gotten to the
house unseen, she retired to the basement lair she’d fixed up for just this
contingency. It had cases of bottled water, food, clothes, flashlights and
batteries. It also had a police band radio powered by a pair of heavy duty car
batteries that would last for several days - longer if she was sparing in her
use of the radio. It was to this she went first, to check and see how the
search for her was going.
To her
immense satisfaction the search had already spread beyond her current location
and there was no mention of the car she was driving. Good. That meant that no
one had as yet missed - or found - it’s true owners. She thought it unlikely
that they’d be found anytime soon, even when they were missed. She’d taken them
away from the house and dumped the bodies down an old dry well on a neighboring
property. Now she had time to figure out just where she wanted to go from here
- and plot her revenge on Admiral Harriman Nelson.
*********
Nelson
sank into the overstuffed wing chair in his den and put his feet up on the
ottoman with a sigh. Sipping thoughtfully at the Scotch in his hand, he mulled
over the events of the day. It had been interesting, to say the least. Porter
appeared to have given them all the slip - one more piece of evidence that the
woman had in fact been a professional agent. The topper though, had been the
discovery that O’Hara was NSA - National Security Agency. He’d been torn
between relief that the man had managed to feed Porter mostly bogus information
and outrage that an agency of the US government had seen fit to plant an agent
in the Institute without so much as a by-your-leave. He should have been told -
and the fact that he hadn’t been rankled. Haggen - Nelson smiled ruefully as he
recalled his security chief’s reaction - Haggen had been absolutely livid about
it, considering the whole affair a personal snub and a slur on his abilities.
Sighing
again, Nelson leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. At least the family
was all safe. He and Chip had seen them all to their bungalows after a late
supper. Security was tight, courtesy of the FBI and Starke’s SEALs, while
Haggen was burning the midnight oil, going over everyone’s security clearances
again. As soon as he’d cleared his key people, they’d begin reviewing all of
the Institute’s security protocols, making changes and tightening them up. At
this point they didn’t think that Porter had actually gotten away with anything
that could seriously damage them, but better safe than sorry.
*********
The
ocean was still wreathed in a light morning fog as Harriman Nelson stood by the
window in his office looking out, sipping on a cup of coffee and turning the
events of the last week over in his mind. Behind him an exhausted Haggen
slumped in a chair in front of his desk. Two and a half days of searching for
Irene Porter had proved futile - she seemed to have vanished from the face of
the earth. That fact that had convinced even the most dubious that she was in
truth an experienced agent. The search of her apartment moreover, had proven to
be more than merely interesting. While there hadn’t been enough evidence to
definitively link her to Admiral Tobin, there had been enough to cause the Navy
and various intelligence agencies to summon him to Washington where they were
currently giving him a thorough grilling. Of course, thought Nelson, he’ll
blame me for that. Shaking his head, he turned away from the window just in
time to see his security chief’s eyes sag shut and his chin drop to his chest.
Soft snores followed almost immediately.
Smiling
wanly at his weary friend, Nelson decided to let him sleep. Haggen had only
gotten about four hours of sleep out of the last forty-eight, so Nelson knew he
was running on sheer willpower. He’d even gone with Nelson earlier that morning
to see the family off at the airport, despite the Admiral’s suggestion that he
turn in. Haggen’s presence hadn’t really been required; Crane, Morton, Kowalski
and Patterson had been there, since they were going back to Kansas with the
O’Brien’s and wouldn’t return for a couple of days - at Nelson’s insistence. He
would have liked to go along himself, but the current crisis demanded that he
remain at the Institute. Still, he intended for Morton to get some quality time
with his - no - their - family. He shook his head again as he thought
about it. The whole thing still seems surreal. Like a bad movie plot. I
don’t know if Chip and I will ever be really comfortable with the change in our
relationship. Oh, well. He and Edith had tentative plans to fly to Kansas
for Christmas, provided her doctors cleared her to travel. Even though he and
Morton were still sorting things out, he’d found that he really liked his
cousin Sammy and her son Don. That was a relationship he wanted to pursue.
Sighing to himself, he admitted, I didn’t realize how much I missed having
family other than Edith. Or how much she did either. No wonder she started
acting flaky. Perhaps this will settle her down so that she’s not quite so
desperate for companionship. Before their fight that ultimately landed her
in the hospital, he’d not had much sympathy for her plight, but he’d since come
to realize just how lonely she’d been. He had Cliff O’Brien to thank for
opening his eyes there.
Shaking
himself out of his introspective frame of mind, he walked back to his desk and
settled into his chair, eying the stack of paperwork that had overflowed his
in-basket. He really wasn’t in the mood to shuffle papers, so he picked up the
folder that contained copies of what were supposed to be the notes from the
detectives in the murder case of Chip’s mother and sister. Though they couldn’t
prove it with only copies, Haggen and Don had both insisted that something was
wrong with the notes they were sent. In fact Haggen flatly stated that he
thought the files were forgeries substituted for the originals and had been
confident enough of that conclusion to call in the FBI to investigate. With the
original team of detectives on the case both being deceased, there had additionally
been a question as to whether the explanations given in their deaths were the
actual cause.
So far
it appeared that they were. The lead detective, Anton Black, had had a history
of heart problems even before the murders - he’d been forced to retire shortly
afterwards and within just a few years had died of a massive coronary. The
other detective, a fellow by the name of Nick Sands, though considerably
younger than Black, had been a heavy smoker. He’d succumbed to lung cancer two
years before Morton applied to the Naval Academy. As to who might have replaced
the files… only the Dawimhlar - or Chip Morton - had any motive.
Nelson
snorted. He didn’t believe for one moment that Morton had done it. That kind of
guile just wasn’t in the young officer’s makeup. Plus there was the fact that
they’d been switched at least as far back as the time Morton had applied to the
Naval Academy. Morton wouldn’t have had the experience or the resources to have
done it himself when he was in high school - and his father certainly wouldn‘t
have done it for him. The Dawimhlar on the other hand… it actually made the
case for their existence stronger in Nelson’s mind since they most definitely
had something to hide. He was relieved that it didn’t look like they had resorted
to foul play to eliminate witnesses - but then, if that had been their style,
he couldn’t see them rescuing Chip as a child, let alone finishing off Smith to
protect him as an adult. Then again… he leaned back in his chair and once more
turned the events around in his mind. An off the wall thought struck him. Perhaps
the files disappearing hadn’t been to protect themselves. If it happened at the
time Morton applied to the Academy, could it have in fact been done to protect
him? Which led Nelson back to Haggen’s question. Why were they so
interested in Chip?
A thud from the outer office caught his
attention, distracting him from his thoughts. Looking up, he frowned. It was
Sunday - Angie and the rest of the secretaries were all off. There shouldn’t be
anyone else on this floor besides himself and Haggen. Security knew they were
there and wouldn’t send anyone up without notifying him first - not unless it
was an emergency. At that thought the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in
warning, prompting him to rise with the intention of waking Haggen. He’d only
gotten halfway to his feet when the door to his office blew open with a bang,
freezing him in place and shocking Haggen awake.
Irene
Porter stood there with a look of insane hatred on her face and an AK-47 in her
hands. The gun was pointed squarely at him.
Time
seemed to suddenly slow down. Every detail became etched in startling clarity
as his mind seemed to split into two halves - one part shifted into overdrive,
concerned only with survival, while the rational half seemed to detach itself
and became merely a distant observer. From the corner of his eye he saw Haggen
diving from his chair to the floor, grabbing for the gun in his shoulder
holster. Dimly he was aware that he was throwing himself in the opposite
direction, but his eyes remained locked on the gun, watching Porter’s finger
tightening on the trigger of the assault rifle. That same detached part of his
mind observed in curiosity as a blinding light suddenly blossomed in the room,
becoming a blazing ball of radiance just in front of Porter. In seeming slow
motion he saw the gun ripped from her grip and sent spinning to one side of the
room, while the light lifted her from her feet and bodily slammed her back
through the doorway into Angie’s office. He noted that the blast had come from
the window to his left - the window that he’d just been looking out of moments
before.
Abrupt
contact with the floor - and his shoulder colliding with the wall - caused him to grunt with sudden pain as he awkwardly
rolled over and sat up, eyes turning to the windows to seek the source of the
mysterious blast. On the other side of the desk Haggen was scrambling to his
feet, gun drawn, also turning to the window.
Once
they’d gotten a good look, the two men froze in place, not quite daring to
believe what their eyes were telling them. Two shapes hung outside the now
punctured window, shapes both men clearly recognized from the descriptions Chip
Morton had given them.
Dawimhlar. Nelson breathed the name out in an almost silent
whisper as Haggen let his gun slowly sag.
The
two dark furred creatures were clad in what was clearly combat gear and
suspended by ropes from above, with their odd looking weapons pointed inward.
One of them reached into his? her? vest pocket and pulled out what appeared to
be an envelope and slipped it through the hole in the glass. As Nelson and
Haggen straightened in surprise, both of the Dawimhlar saluted with a fist to
their chests and were abruptly reeled up out of sight. The men rushed to the
window and flung it open, leaning out and peering upwards just in time to see
the pair disappear into the fog overhead. There was a feeling of something huge
moving above the building, then the fog seemed to suck upwards in what could only
be the retreating wake of some sort of craft.
“Damn!”
exclaimed Nelson, smacking his fist on the window sill in exasperation, still
staring up into the clouds. “I didn’t get a look at their ship. Did you see
anything, Philip?”
“No,”
returned Haggen. “I’m thinking they had some kind of shielding around it that
reflected the fog. At least that’s what it looked like to me.” He turned his
attention to the envelope now lying on the floor. “Looks like they left
something for us though. Doesn’t seem to be sealed.” Cautiously he squatted
down and reached out with the barrel of his pistol to poke gingerly at the
envelope.
“I
doubt that they would have staged that rescue if they meant to give us anything
harmful,” observed Nelson dryly, turning to watch him.
“I
suppose not,” admitted Haggen, straightening up, but leaving the envelope on
floor. “Speaking of which, I’d better go check on Porter and call security if
they aren’t already on the way.” He looked down again at the floor. “It’s got
your name on it, by the way.”
“What?”
“The
envelope is addressed to you, Harry,” said Haggen as he walked away.
Nelson
bent down to look. Sure enough, written on the front of the plain white letter
sized envelope in elaborate script were the words To Admiral Harriman
Nelson, NIMR. He picked it up and opened the flap, revealing a single sheet
of pale seafoam green paper which he pulled out to read.
We
should talk. Call me when you’re ready. Scathach
That
and a phone number was all it had on it.
He
held it in his hand, bemused. Such a simple message to set the stage for what
could prove to be a momentous and history altering occasion. Giving a shake of
his head he placed the paper back in the envelope and put it in his shirt
pocket. He’d have to give this some careful thought, but first he had more
pressing problems.
“Harry!”
Haggen had reappeared in the doorway. “Porter’s just stunned. I need you to
find something to tie her up with so I can go for help - the phones are dead.
Probably her work.”
“Really?
Huh. I wonder what sort of weapon that was then? A directional flash-bang?
Non-lethal apparently.” Nelson had returned to his desk and was rummaging
through the drawers as he spoke. “Ah.” He held up a roll of reinforced
packaging tape and showed it to Haggen. “This do?”
“Oh
yeah,” grinned Haggen as Nelson threw him the tape. The two returned to the
outer office where they made quick work of securely binding their would be
assassin to a chair.
*******
Nelson
sat behind Morton’s secretary’s desk watching with detachment the bustling of
NIMR security and the FBI in his office across the hall. Porter had been handed
over to the Feds a couple of hours before, wrapped in a strait-jacket. He shook
his head as he recalled the unsettling scene. Upon regaining consciousness the
woman had immediately started screaming and cursing, thrashing and fighting
like a caged beast. Security had summoned Jamison, who finally had no choice
but to sedate her to keep her from injuring either herself or one of them. Her ravings
though, had revealed that she hadn’t seen the Dawimhlar, something for which
Nelson was profoundly grateful - she thought she’d walked into a trap and that
his SEALs had hit her with a flash-bang grenade. Well, perhaps she did
spring a trap, he mused, it just wasn’t mine. The SEALs of course,
knew they hadn‘t nailed her, but assumed that somehow he and Haggen had.
He
sighed, caught on the horns of a dilemma. As yet, the FBI had not interviewed
him or Haggen - the agent in charge had not yet arrived and his subordinates
were still collecting physical evidence from the scene of the attack. As
reluctant as he was to reveal the role of the Dawimhlar, he still really didn’t
want to lie to the FBI either. He badly need to get with Haggen and discuss just
how much to reveal.
A
movement in the doorway caught his attention. He looked up to see a dark haired
FBI agent standing there with his arms crossed and a severe look on his face.
Speaking
of the Devil… Nelson threw back his head and burst into laughter. “Murray Ogg.
Who the hell let you in?” Rising from his seat, Nelson came around the desk to
shake the agent’s hand in warm welcome. “It’s good to see you again. How’s
Loretta and the kids?”
The
agent dropped the scowl and grinned back at him. “Fine, Harry. She said to tell
you that you need a woman to keep you out of trouble. Speaking of which, what
have you and that hillbilly sheriff of yours gotten into now?”
“I
heard that,” came Haggen’s voice from the hallway. “So what brings bad news
like you all the way from DC to roost on our doorstep?”
“Well,
I was on my way out with the test results from those police files when my boss
dropped your latest crisis in my lap as well. You’re right by the way - neither
Black nor Sands wrote those papers. They’re pretty sophisticated forgeries, I
might add. Makes it look bad for your guy Morton.”
Nelson
waved a hand in negation. “We already know he didn’t do it.”
Ogg
arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Do you know who did and why?”
“We’ve
got a pretty good idea, yeah,” said Haggen, coming in to perch on the edge of
the desk. “And it wasn’t about Morton.”
“That
we know of,” amended Nelson.
A
perplexed frown crossed Ogg’s face. “If it wasn’t about Morton, what was it
about?”
Nelson
returned to the chair and sat, steepling his fingers under his chin while
looking solemnly at the agent. Ogg shifted uncertainly under the scrutiny,
wondering just what bizarre secret they were going to lay on him this time.
“Did
you hear anything about a certain incident almost two years ago involving
Tobin, Seaview and, ah, an unusual, shall we say, visitor?”
The
agent narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Two years ago… Are you referring to that
big UFO flap off the coast here?” Ogg’s eyes suddenly widened in comprehension.
“You’re not telling me there really was a UFO?” There was disbelief in his
voice.
“Nope,”
said Haggen. “We know exactly what that ship was, so it wasn’t ’unidentified’.”
“Something
of ours - or should I say - yours? Like that little yellow monster you‘ve got
that caused the flap down in LA county a while back?” He certainly hoped so,
but from past experience with Nelson and Seaview, he wouldn’t be willing
to bet on it.
“I
wish,” snorted Nelson. “The technology we’re talking about here is way beyond
anything we possess.”
“I see.”
His expression indicated that he did, but that he liked the idea about as much
as sour persimmons. “And does this identified flying object have a
connection to what happened to the files you asked me to check out?” Ogg
skeptically inquired, not at all sure he wanted to go where Nelson was leading.
Nelson
shook his head. “Not directly. It was merely that that incident eventually lead
us to discover that Morton had encountered a different set of, um, ‘visitors’
as a child, shortly before the murder of his mother and sister. I suspect that
it was they who switched the files, to hide evidence of their existence. By the
time Chip got to high school, his father had more or less convinced him that
they weren’t real, so when no one ever asked about them, he didn’t volunteer
the information.” Nelson paused, steepling his fingers. “However, when Smith
came back, apparently so did they.”
Ogg
blinked as revelation struck him. “They threw the hornets?”
“So
Chip says.” Nelson sighed. “And Patterson confirms having seen an unidentified
figure at the scene as well.”
“Slim
evidence.” It was evident from Ogg’s tone that he wasn’t entirely convinced.
“If they are real, could Morton be one of them?”
“Ah,
no. We’ve seen them ourselves - they can’t pass for human.” Haggen chose this
moment to rejoin the conversation.
“You’ve
seen them? When?” They definitely had Ogg’s full attention now.
Sharing
a look, Nelson and Haggen both sighed. “This morning,” said Nelson, “when
Porter came after us. The trap she sprang was theirs, not ours. They were the
ones who nailed her.”
Ogg’s
mouth fell open. “They were here? Today?”
“Right
outside my office window. Which is how the hole got in the glass, by the way.
Their ship was hovering above the roof and two of them rappelled down. When
Porter burst in, they nailed her with what appeared to be some sort of
directional flash-bang weapon. We weren’t affected at all by it - she took the
brunt of it. And then they left this before disappearing.“ Nelson pulled the
envelope out of his pocket and handed it to the agent.
Gingerly
taking the paper, Ogg opened it up and read the message - twice. When he
finally looked back up, his expression was troubled as he said to Nelson in a
bewildered tone, “Why? What do they want?”
Taking
back the envelope and sheet of paper Nelson replied, “We’ve been asking
ourselves that. I guess the only way we’re going to find out is to make the
call - and just ask them.”
*********
“Harry,”
groaned Haggen as he pulled at his tie, “did you really have to bring me along?
You know how much I hate DC.” Not to mention suits - and not just my own
either. He squirmed around in the back seat of the limo as it sped down
Pennsylvania Avenue headed for a hastily called Monday afternoon meeting at the
White House.
“I’m
afraid there wasn’t much choice. Once I passed the decision about contact up to
the President, he decided he wanted to meet everyone who’d had any contact with
these beings. You’ve seen as much of them as I have. Besides,” Nelson added
wryly, “this won’t be the first time I’ve been in the Oval Office with
President Ford concerning the subject of aliens.”
“Then
why isn’t Chip here? He’s the one who really knows the most about them.”
Sighing,
Nelson pondered his reply. “I think he’s been too close to them and it
scares some people.”
“So
that’s why the Feds snatched him up and took him off somewhere for
interrogation? Because a six year old kid got rescued by an alien twenty-nine
years ago?” Haggen’s tone indicated he was concerned about the treatment the
young officer might be subjected to at the hands of some of the more
narrow-minded and paranoid members of the government.
Truth
be told, Nelson was somewhat concerned himself for Morton‘s safety. “No, it was
because a US Naval Reserve officer was rescued by an alien just a couple of
weeks ago.” He sighed. “I didn’t like him being taken off either, but what
could I do?”
“Protest
a bit more. Take your case to the President. I tell ya, Harry, it’s how his
furry friends will react to whatever happens to him that worries the hell out
of me.”
Nelson
flinched. That was something that was weighing very heavily on his mind. He was
beginning to wish they’d never had the police files investigated and that he’d
never mentioned the Dawimhlar to Ogg. He should have simply called Scathach
himself to find out what was on her mind, then made the decision about
who to tell. As it was now, things were threatening to spiral out of control
and create another unnecessary crisis.
The
car turned into the wrought iron gate and stopped for a security check,
temporarily suspending their conversation. The issues it raised, however,
stayed on Harriman Nelson’s mind.
*********
Chip
Morton sat on the floor, huddled in the back corner of the cell, bewildered,
frightened and frustrated by the bizarre turn his life had taken in the last
couple of hours. The day had begun normally enough - breakfast at his aunt’s
house, with Lee, Ski and Pat. It hadn’t been until after breakfast was over,
while the four of them were jokingly roughhousing over who was going to help
Aunt Sammy do the dishes, that the day had begun to come unraveled.
It had
begun with several armed FBI agents showing up on his aunt’s doorstep,
demanding that he accompany them for questioning. When Crane had objected and
demanded to see a warrant, they’d threatened to arrest him for interfering in a
federal investigation. They’d even brushed off his cousin Don and a deputy
sheriff, who’d arrived in response to a call from one of the neighbors about a
strange car at his parent’s house. It seemed nothing would deter them. They’d
even refused his request to talk to Admiral Nelson. The next thing he knew,
he’d been stuffed into a car, hauled to the airport, dragged onto a waiting
airplane and flown here, to the Federal prison in Leavenworth, Kansas. All the
way they’d hammered him with questions about the Dawimhlar, what were their
plans, how long had he been an agent, questions so absolutely outrageous he
could only stare at them in disbelief. Refusing to believe any of his answers,
they‘d begun to get physical. After several hours of relentless interrogation
that hadn’t produced the answers they apparently wanted, they’d put him here,
in solitary confinement, ‘to think things over’ they’d said.
If
they’re trying to scare me - they’re succeeding, he thought to himself. I only hope Lee can get
through to the Admiral and get me the hell out of here - soon.
“Psssst.
Mr. Morton, are you okay?” came a soft whisper from the corridor.
Morton
lifted his head and stared in disbelief at the solid steel door. Incredibly,
the voice had belonged to Patterson. “Pat? Is that you?”
“Yeah,
Mr. Morton, it’s me.”
“How
did you get here?” he whispered back as he climbed painfully to his feet and
limped up to the door. “Do the Feds know you’re down here?”
“Nah,
they haven‘t got a clue,” said Patterson softly from the other side, as he
examined the cell door. “Listen, Mr. Morton, you’re in a real jam. Admiral
Nelson’s been called to Washington - I think he knows you’ve been pulled in for
questioning, but not what’s really happening here. I know he doesn’t know that
they’re threatening Captain Crane with seizing Seaview and shutting down
the Institute if the Skipper tries to call anybody and tell what‘s going on.
The Captain thinks Admiral Tobin’s supporters are trying to come up with some
kind of evidence to discredit Admiral Nelson and they’ve decided to try and
break you to get it.”
Morton
rested his forehead against the smooth metal of the door in despair. “So what
are you doing here? And you never did answer my question about how you got in
here in the first place.”
“He
came with us,” said another voice, a voice full of odd undertones, a voice that
he hadn’t heard in nearly thirty years but that he recognized instantly.
“Scathach?”
“Truly,
it is I, Chip.” He could hear her sigh. “I am sorry that our friendship has
brought you such troubles.”
“As am
I,” added another Dawimhlar voice he also recognized.
“Not
your fault,” he said instantly. “But what are you and Faileas doing here?”
“Chip,
these people mean you real harm. We cannot allow it. We are here to rescue
you.”
“That
would just convince them that they’re right.”
“Your
death won’t convince them that they are wrong,” Scathach promptly responded,
“and that is what will happen if you choose to stay.” A rumble from
Faileas indicated her agreement.
He had
to admit to himself that was an outcome he was increasingly fearful of. “Okay,
you get me out of here. Then what?”
“You
and me lay a false trail, Mr. Morton, by driving away from here,” responded
Patterson. “We’re gonna try to make this look like I was the only one involved
in springing you.”
“Pat,
you’re going to be in all kinds of trouble over this. You really should
reconsider.” Morton really didn’t want to stay in this gods-forsaken hole, but
he also didn’t want Patterson to sacrifice himself to save him.
“Too
late for that, Mr. Morton. I done gave Captain Crane my resignation and I‘m
already here.”
“Does
he know you’re doing this?” If Lee sent him here, he’s going to get a piece
of my mind for putting Pat in this situation.
“Nosir.
I guess he probably suspects I‘ve come after you, maybe even that I’ll have
help, but he’s really worried about the bastards taking Seaview. He and
Ski are already headed back to Santa Barbara. We, ah, helped him get a message
through to Mr. O’Brien to get a skeleton crew together and quietly get the boat
ready to go to sea as soon as possible after he gets back. The plan is to get
you aboard too, if we can.”
“What
about the Admiral?”
“If we
gotta rescue him and Mr. Haggen, then we will.”
Morton
couldn’t help but cringe. This whole situation was rapidly deteriorating. But
what brought it on in the first place? “Scathach? Do you know what started
all this?”
There
was a heavy sigh. “The Porter woman came back to the Institute to kill Nelson.
We prevented it, though perhaps not as discretely as we should have. I left
your Admiral a note to call me. Unfortunately he showed it to a FBI agent who
insisted that the decision to call was the President’s. Nelson allowed himself
to be persuaded and passed the decision upstairs - and as a result, people
found out who had no business knowing. So here we are.”
“Tobin’s
cronies,” muttered Morton to himself, forgetting just how keen Dawimhlar
hearing was.
“Most
likely. Now, if you will move back from the door, we will blow the lock.”
“Right.”
He limped back into the corner and eased himself down to curl up as tightly as
he could. “Ready,” he softly called once in position. His answer was a muffled whump
from the door. No sooner had the small puff of smoke cleared than the door was
swinging open and Scathach had appeared to kneel beside him. She took in his
bruised and bloodied face and her silver eyes glittered with rage. Faileas
hovered behind her, equally outraged.
“Can
you walk?” she asked, gently caressing his bruised cheek with one finger.
Giving
her a wry smile and gripping her hand in his he answered, “If I can lean on somebody.”
“You
can always lean on me,” she told him as she helped him to his feet.
“I’m
here too,” said Patterson, coming around to the other side to help her hold him
up. Once they had him securely supported between them, they carefully
maneuvered him into the corridor. With Faileas leading the way, the foursome
headed for the ventilation shaft at the other end of the passage that led into
the sub-basement.
It
soon became obvious that Morton wasn’t going to be able to move fast enough on
his own for them to escape. Scathach called a halt and motioned Faileas back to
the group.
“Chip,
we’re going to have to carry you. Faileas and I will have to do it - Pat is too
tall for either of us to work with him - we’d be off-centered. Pat, take the
point.”
Patterson
nodded and took the pulse gun Faileas handed him. Giving a slow nod of
reluctant agreement, Morton allowed the two Dawimhlar to link arms, forming a
cradle to carry him. Settling into place, he signaled his readiness and the
trio proceeded much more rapidly to the waiting air shaft. Once there, it was
only a matter of minutes to get all of them rigged into harnesses, ready to be
lowered to the bottom of the shaft. Faileas went first, then Morton, followed
closely by Scathach, with Patterson bringing up the rear. Once all were safely
at the bottom, the two Dawimhlar again picked up Morton, and with Patterson
once more leading the way, carried him through several hundred feet of twisting
passages. This time their apparent destination was several wooden crates
stacked up against a sheet of plywood on one wall of the corridor. After
settling Morton down on one of the smaller crates, Faileas helped Patterson
shift the rest aside and peel back the plywood to reveal a ragged, foul
smelling tunnel.
Morton
wrinkled his forehead along with his nose. “What is that stench?” he
asked, drawing back.
“Used
to be an old sewer,” explained Patterson apologetically as he pulled out one of
the crates and opened it to reveal four full protective suits and gas masks. “It
leads to a creek several miles from here. They plugged the tunnel decades back
by filling it in with dirt and concrete, but didn’t realize that between
rainwater seeping in and either compacting the dirt, or washing it out - not to
mention a little bit of digging - that it’s open again. It’s a tight squeeze in
a couple of places, but we can get through.”
“And
no obviously alien technology involved.”
“You
got it, sir,” said Patterson as he handed Morton the first suit. Morton eyed it
dubiously, but after another glance at the dank, fetid hole before them, began
to struggle into it. The Dawimhlar suits, being of a different design than the
ones of human manufacture, took only seconds to put on; once in, Scathach and
Faileas assisted the two men into theirs.
“Why
the different suits?” White-faced with pain and panting by the time he’d gotten
his on, Morton addressed his question to Scathach, but it was Patterson who
answered..
“We’re
going to abandon ours where they’ll be found after a bit of a search. They’re
US made, so..”
“I
see,” slowly nodded Morton. “More non-evidence of aliens. Are the suits
traceable?”
“Yeah,
back to the hospital in Dodge City.”
“Which
is a very logical place for you to have gotten them from this quickly. Did you
actually get them from there?”
“Nah.
Just a paper trail. They were never really there.”
Morton
shook his head and quietly asked Patterson, “Did they recruit you to help them
with this rescue?” He indicated the Dawimhlar with his thumb.
Pausing
for a moment before answering, Patterson turned and looked Morton straight in
the eye. “No, they didn’t call me. I called them.”
Mouth
falling open in shock, Morton could only stare at him; but before he could ask
Patterson to explain, Scathach had approached with air masks in hand. She
handed one to each of them and Morton put his on entirely out of reflex,
effectively eliminating any opportunity to speak further, particularly since
the others had donned their masks as well and were gathering up the rest of
their gear in preparation for departure. Dazed, Morton numbly followed suit and
before he was ready, they had placed him in the line between Patterson and
Faileas and marched into the short tunnel leading to the sewer.
The
dim lighting from the service corridor vanished as Faileas maneuvered the
plywood back into place across the opening behind them. Everyone switched on
their flashlights and Morton immediately almost wished they hadn’t, for the
crumbling sewer that stretched before them was something that he knew would give
him nightmares for the rest of his life. A black, tarry looking liquid - he
didn’t even want to think about what the composition of it was - stretched
before them as far as the lights could reach. Parts of the ceiling and walls
had started to crumble in and there were strange white fibrous filaments
hanging down everywhere. The rational part of his mind insisted that they had
to be plant roots, but the less than rational part was ready to scream and
bolt. Only the thought of what was waiting behind kept him moving forward -
that and the question of how the hell Patterson could have known how to
call the Dawimhlar.
It
took them over an hour of wading through the shin deep muck and crawling
through narrow muddy passages where the ceiling or walls had collapsed or been
filled in to reach the end that fed into the creek. Once out into the chill
late afternoon sun, they all felt an instinctive need to wade in the creek and
wash as much of the slime off as they could, despite the fact that the water
temperature wasn’t much above freezing. Exhausted, Morton simply sat down in
the frigid water; Patterson quickly noticed his plight and came to his aid,
helping to wash off the tarry muck. At that point Scathach and Faileas joined
him to help carry the drained man ashore. Stripping Morton’s suit off, they
wrapped him in a thin silvery cloth and laid him in a sheltered spot while the
rest stripped their suits and masks off. Patterson took his and Morton’s and
stuffed them in a hole at the edge of the bank and covered them with rocks;
Faileas took the other two and placed them on a rock in midstream, then using a
device produced from her backpack, flash incinerated both. When she was
finished there was only a scorch mark on the rock, which she hid by simply
turning the rock over.
Looking
up the steep bank to where their four-wheel drive jeep awaited, Patterson shook
his head to himself and motioned Scathach over. Inclining his head towards
Morton, he said softly, “He’s in no shape for this. We need to come up with an
alternate plan.”
Following
his look, Scathach sighed. Morton had pulled the blanket tight, but she could
see him shivering, a look of bleak exhaustion on his face. “I’m forced to
agree, Pat. But we still need to lay a false trail.”
Cocking
his head to one side thoughtfully, Patterson considered the problem. “We need
to trade the jeep for a van. That way I can just let myself be seen and the
Feds will most likely assume Mr. Morton’s hiding in the back.”
Scathach
scratched at her chin as she mulled the idea around, looking for flaws. There
were probably several, but it had two very large positives - it got Morton
immediate medical attention and put him out of reach of the US Government.
“Okay, that’s what we’ll do then.” Pulling out her communicator, she signaled
the cruiser Soese to send down a medevac team. Apprising Faileas of the
change in plan, they readied themselves to be picked up with Morton. Once
aboard, further arrangements would be need to be made.
********
Harriman
Nelson sat on stool in the bar of his hotel and scowled into his nearly empty
glass of Scotch. He’d gone into the White House meeting earlier that afternoon
expecting to have a rational one on one discussion with the President and
perhaps his Chief of Staff about the Dawimhlar and the ramifications of
contact. Instead he’d been greeted by a committee - and blindsided by hostile
accusations that Lt. Commander Morton was an alien agent and he himself had
been unduly influenced. The fact that until just a few days previously he’d
never even heard of the creatures seemed to have no bearing. Nor did Morton’s
exemplary service record. No one present except himself and Haggen had seemed
to want to even entertain the possibility that the Dawimhlar might be seeking
friendly relations with humanity. The entire tone of the meeting had been so
antagonistic that Nelson considered himself lucky that he and Haggen had walked
out free men, rather than being escorted out in handcuffs at gunpoint.
“The
lunatics are running the asylum,” he muttered to himself as he signaled to the
bartender for a refill.
“I
didn’t quite catch that, Harry.” Nelson turned slightly towards Haggen, who had
just planted himself on the next stool.
“The
lunatics are running the asylum,” he repeated, raising his voice just enough to
be heard by his security chief.
Snorting
in reply, Haggen dryly retorted, “You just now figuring that out, me boy? Why
do you think I never took a job in this town?”
“Smart
man. So what did the grapevine have to say?”
“Nothing
yet, and I‘ll have what he‘s got.” The bartender had appeared in front of
Haggen to take his order, causing the two men to cut off their conversation.
Waiting
until the man had moved out of earshot, Nelson then asked, “Do we even know
who’s behind the lunacy?”
Haggen
glowered. “Tobin’s cronies for the most part, a contingent from the Air Force
and a handful of right-wing politicians. Their theory is, if they ain’t like
us, they’re the enemy.”
“Us
against the universe.” Nelson paused, for the bartender had returned with
Haggen’s drink, interrupting the conversation again.
Taking
a sip of his drink, Haggen returned to the conversation once the bartender had
moved away. “I don’t mind telling you, Harry, I’m really worried about Chip.
And what might happen once the Dawimhlar find out - if they haven‘t already.”
He would have said more, but the bartender returned, this time carrying a
phone.
“Either
of you gents know a Lee Crane?” Both of them raised their heads, worry suddenly
evident in their eyes. The bartender held the phone out and Nelson silently
took it with a curt nod of thanks. Having performed his duty the man made
himself scarce again. With a look at Haggen, Nelson put the receiver to his
ear.
“Hello?”
“Admiral,”
came Lee’s voice, “are you okay?”
Nelson’s
eyebrows arched. “We’re fine. Is there any reason why you think we wouldn’t
be?”
“Well,
no, but after the way they dragged Chip away this morning, nothing would
surprise me.” A heavy sigh came over the line. “Ski and I came back to Santa
Barbara - one of the Feds insinuated that if we made waves about Chip they’d
arrest us all and confiscate Seaview.”
Sitting
bolt upright, Nelson bellowed, “What!” Heads turned to look, but seeing that
the cause of the outburst was on the phone, quickly dismissed the issue as
being of no concern. Catching himself, Nelson lowered his tone. “We were told
he was simply going to be questioned there in Dodge City. The implication was
that he‘d be allowed to return to his aunt‘s house when they were finished.”
“I
think it’s a lot more serious than that because he never made it back from
wherever they took him, Admiral. Plus, well, Patterson handed in his
resignation this morning and stayed behind in Kansas. Don’t ask me how, but I
think he knows where they took Chip and God help me, but I wouldn’t be
surprised if he went after him. I thought I’d better give you fair warning.”
Nelson
was silent for a moment. “It may be just as well if he does, Lee.” The shocked
intake of breath from the other end demanded explanation. “We had a hostile
reception committee at the White House - and I do mean a committee.”
Crane
groaned. “Does this mean what I’m beginning to think it means?”
“Probably.
Lee, how quick can you get Seaview to sea?”
“I had
Bobby start prepping the boat before Ski and I left Kansas - just in case.”
Lee’s tone had turned grim; it was obvious that he’d hoped the preparations
would turn out to be unnecessary. “We can be gone in less than an hour if we
sail without a full crew. About half of both watches have already reported in.”
“Do
it, Lee. Things here are spiraling out of control.” He paused again, then
added, “With things going the way they are, you might ask for volunteers only
to man the boat. It could get rough.”
“Aye,
sir.” Crane paused, then blurted, “What about you and Philip?”
“Well,
no one has tried to arrest us yet, so I’m thinking we’ll call the flight crew
and check out here in a couple of minutes. That way we can be back before
morning and you can send somebody in FS1 to pick me up.”
“Yes,
sir. I’ll get on it right away.”
Nelson
hung the phone up, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Philip, I have the
feeling there’s a clock ticking somewhere and we’re running out of time.
Patterson’s resigned and Lee thinks he’s gone after Morton.”
Haggen
rolled his eyes heavenward. “I think the quicker we get out of here the better
off we’ll be. I’m calling Jorgensen now.” He reached over and picked up the
phone with one hand as he fished for his notebook with the other. Flipping it
open to the page that had the motel phone number for their flight crew he
dialed it. When the clerk answered he said, “Room 203, please.”
There
was a long pause on the other end before the young woman said nervously, “I’m
sorry, sir, but that line is busy.” All of Haggen’s internal alarms abruptly
shrilled in warning.
“I
see,” he said, pretending unconcern, “guess I’ll have to call back later.
Thanks anyway.” No point in alerting whoever was listening in that he had any
idea of what was going on. Gently placing the receiver back in its cradle he
looked over at Nelson and grimly told him, “The clock just ran out. I’d say our
flight crew is under house arrest and the plane probably impounded. The goons
are more than likely headed here now. You have anything in your room you can’t
afford to leave behind, Harry?”
“Hmmm.”
Nelson considered. “My briefcase is in the room, but there’s nothing in it that
I wasn’t prepared to show the President and his people anyway. I guess we can
leave it. All I have in my suit bag another uniform and a shaving kit, so it
isn‘t essential. My wallet and keys are with me.”
“Good.
I’d say we need to just walk out of here now.” He eyed Nelson speculatively as
the two men rose from their seats. “You’ll need to lose the uniform jacket - it
makes you too easy to track.” He cocked his head to one side for a moment, deep
in thought. Suddenly grinning, he straightened up and mouthed softly to Nelson,
“I have an idea.”
Sighing,
Nelson nodded and followed Haggen as he headed for the door of the bar. Once in
the hallway, the two turned and got on the elevator just as if they returning
to their rooms; however Haggen pressed not only the button for the eighth floor
where their rooms were but for all the floors in between. Exiting on the next
floor above, Haggen headed for the stairwell, where the two men proceeded
downwards into the basement. Once there, Haggen pulled Nelson into the first
unlocked storage room they found and directed him to take off his jacket, along
with his tie and all of his insignia. Haggen shed his suit coat and tie as
well, and stuffed them and Nelson’s down behind a pile of boxes. Both men now
were dressed in white shirts and dark slacks.
Easing
open the door of the storage room, Haggen surveyed the corridor. Empty.
Gesturing to Nelson to follow, the two men slipped into the empty hallway and
headed boldly for the service entrance at the rear of the hotel. Fortunately at
this hour there were few employees about and the few who did see them simply
assumed from their actions and clothing that the two were managers. Along the
way they passed a cleaning cart, and Haggen paused long enough to filch several
large black plastic garbage bags. At Nelson’s questioning look he mouthed,
“Another idea.” Nelson simply shook his head and followed on.
Reaching
the alleyway with no problems, the two paused in the shadow beside a dumpster.
The temperature was only in the mid-forties; as the night deepened the so would
the chill. They needed to find coats and hats - or a warm shelter - fairly
quickly. Shaking out the garbage bags, Haggen used his pocket knife to cut
holes in one end and the sides for their heads and arms. Putting them on like
ponchos offered some protection from the cold - and helped conceal them in the
shadows by covering the stark white of their shirts.
Rubbing
his hands together in an effort to warm them, Nelson pointed with his chin down
the alley towards the south. “I’ve got an old friend who runs a homeless
shelter about ten blocks from here. I usually try to stop in and see him
whenever I’m in town and have the time. We can probably get some old clothes to
disguise ourselves, maybe even have a place to stay tonight.”
“Won’t
the FBI know about him?”
“It’s
possible. We went to school together, but haven’t run in the same social
circles since. He became a priest, but left the priesthood to get married. Now
he and his wife run a small nondenominational mission. Caters mostly to
runaways, homeless families. I suppose if the Feds run a check they’ll discover
that I send contributions every few months. At the very least we can get
different clothes, even if we don’t stay there.”
“It’s
place to start,” Haggen agreed. “Since you know where this place is, lead the
way.”
Nelson
nodded and led the way from the shadows beside the dumpster to the darker
shadows along the flank of the building. Just as they made the corner, both men
looked back to see several official looking cars full of suits slide by the
other end of the alley, clearly headed for the front of the hotel. Haggen and
Nelson looked at each other - the hunters were on the scene. From here on the
two men would have to proceed with extreme caution.
It
took the pair nearly an hour to cover the ten blocks to the mission, for it
seemed every couple of blocks there was either a police car or one of the
unmarked federal vehicles. Haggen had raided a garbage dumpster and come up
with both a ratty old baseball cap - which he gave to Nelson to cover his
distinctive red hair - and an empty whiskey bottle along with a crumpled paper
bag. Combined with generous amounts of dirt rubbed on their faces and shirt
sleeves, as well as mussing their hair, the illusion of street bums was
complete. As the two stumbled along, appearing to share the bottle between them,
the two men gave a credible performance as a pair of homeless drunks.
Reaching
the alley across from the mission had given both men a jolt, for an unmarked
car with two men in suits sat in the shadows. They’d continued their act,
clumsily staggering past the watchers and turning down the sidewalk in the
direction of the liquor store at the other end of the block, where they
disappeared inside for a few moments before reappearing with a new sack and
bottle. The watchers turned their eyes elsewhere as the two then vanished into
the shadows of another alley alongside an abandoned and derelict building,
satisfied that these weren‘t the quarry they were seeking.
Nelson
leaned back against the rough brick wall and put his hands on his knees as he
took several deep breaths to calm himself. He was furious - and scared. He’d
been hunted before, but by foreign governments while on ONI missions. To be
hunted so ruthlessly by his own government was a terrifying experience. He
lifted his head to look at Haggen.
“Philip,
given what’s just happened, I hope Pat did get Chip free from wherever he was
taken - no matter what he had to do or whose help he had to enlist.”
Straightening up he added, “And I hope to God that Lee was able to get Seaview
out to sea.”
“Amen
to that, Harry. The question now is, what the hell are we going to do?”
***********
Lee
Crane anxiously paced the confined space of the Seaview’s control room
as the bustle of activity associated with taking the boat to sea flowed around
him at a frantic pace. He sorely missed Chip Morton’s presence - Bobby O’Brien
was doing the best he could, but the young Operations Officer lacked both
Morton’s experience as XO and his capacity for detail. Had they the normal
preparation time to get everything done, there would have been no problem, but
with only half the crew aboard and a severe constraint on the time, O’Brien was
clearly being stretched to his limits.
A
commotion at the sail hatch interrupted Crane’s worried thoughts. Striding over
to the ladder, he looked up to see Angie Newman, the Admiral’s secretary,
looking back down at him, her head framed by the open hatch.
“Angie…
what’s going on? Have you heard from the Admiral?”
“No,
Lee, I haven’t. But once, before you joined us, the Admiral and I had a
discussion about what to do with certain records if the Institute was in danger
of being overrun by hostile forces. I’m sure he was thinking Communists or
terrorists, but … well, I think this qualifies as a hostile action. There’s a
bunch of stuff he wants out of anyone’s reach. We were to either destroy the
records or get them out on Seaview if we could.”
He
couldn’t help the groan that escaped. Angie smiled ruefully at him but stood
her ground. Shaking his head, Crane sighed in surrender. “Okay, but I don’t
have the crew to help you.”
“That’s
not a problem, Lee. I’ve already enlisted several of the secretaries and some
of the ship’s shore based maintenance personnel to help carry boxes. All you
have to do is have somebody direct traffic. And I’m coming with you - before
you protest, I know too much about what goes on around here and I have no
desire to wind up wherever poor Chip is.”
This
time his sigh was even louder, but he was forced to admit that she was all too
correct. If the situation had deteriorated as badly as Nelson feared, the fact
that Angie was a woman wouldn’t stop the Admiral’s enemies from pursuing her.
“Okay, but bring slacks and soft soled shoes.” Another thought struck him. “Is
there anybody else coming?”
“Well,
I think both Tricia and Cathy are kinda worried about staying. I…” Another
commotion at the hatch interrupted her, but the male voices that filtered down
were music to Lee Crane’s ears.
“Sharkey,
Kowalski, is that you?”
“Yessir,”
answered Seaview’s COB from above, “Got Ski, Riley and Doc Jamison with
me.”
“Do
they know this is volunteers only?” Not that it was proving to be a problem -
most of the crew who could get to the boat before she sailed were coming. It
was the ones scattered around the country on leave, who simply couldn’t get
back to Santa Barbara in the time allotted that he was having to leave behind.
Sharkey’s
answer was a snort of derision. “With all due respect, sir, if Seaview’s
going out, so are we.”
“Doc?”
Crane’s tone asked Jamieson to confirm Sharkey’s bold statement.
“I’m
in, Lee. Nick has already filled me and the Chief in on what’s been happening.
I’ve already called Becca and talked to her about it. She’s going to stay with
her family in eastern Oklahoma - it’s one of those small towns where nearly
everybody is related by either blood or marriage and they’ll stonewall the Feds
if it comes down to it.”
“Let’s
hope it doesn’t get that far. Is there anything you need to have transferred
aboard?” The captain didn’t bother to hide the relief in his voice that the
doctor was coming with them, because he had a feeling that the man’s services
would be needed if Patterson made it back to the boat with Morton - and maybe
even if they didn’t.
“Edith.”
The
smack of Crane’s hand on his forehead was sharp in the confines of the control
room. “Oh, shit! I forgot about the Admiral’s sister!”
Jamieson’s
voice had a grin in it as he answered. “Fortunately I didn’t. I’ve got Frank
getting her ready now. We should have her aboard in less than ten minutes. I‘ve
also got James packing up all the pharmaceuticals and surgical supplies he can
in the time left before we sail.”
“The
Admiral would have my head - thanks Jamie. Is there anyone else?”
“No,
the infirmary is empty except for her.”
Shifting
his attention back to Nelson‘s secretary, Crane inquired, “Angie, any idea of
how many of the Institute’s shore staff will be coming?” Quarters for extra
passengers weren’t the problem it might have otherwise been, since the boat was
going to be sailing shorthanded.
Angie
consulted a mental list before answering. “Probably about at least two dozen. I
know Nick has said he’s coming as soon as he calls his wife and gets her and
the kids on the road to Mexico. I think some of the other families are going to
follow suit. As soon as everything’s loaded, I’m going to dismiss most of the
personnel, so the only ones left will be some of the security people.” Her sigh
echoed the captain’s as she added, “And they’ve got orders to not resist if the
Feds show up and want in.”
“Isn’t
that a bit extreme?” Crane knew that he was clutching at straws, for once the
boat left the dock, there’d be no turning back until the crisis was resolved -
or Seaview had been sunk.
“I
tried to call Captain Jorgensen in DC after you talked to the Admiral, to let
him know they were coming - I couldn’t get through. The desk clerk at the motel
kept telling me the line to their room was busy - but she sounded scared out of
her wits. I then tried to call the airport where the plane was and nobody
wanted to talk to me. I even tried the hotel. They weren‘t in their rooms or
the bar. The bartender told me they’d left just a few minutes ahead of some
suits who came in looking for them.”
“So
maybe they haven’t been arrested yet.”
“No,
but I’d be willing to bet they’re on the run.”
“And
no word from Patterson or Morton?” The sad shake of Angie’s head caused him to
let out an unconscious sigh. “Well, let’s get on with preparations then,” he
said, stepping back from the ladder as Doctor Jamieson made his way down the
ladder, followed by the Chief and two enlisted men. “Ski, Angie needs someone
to help direct some of the shore staff in stowing some stuff that the Admiral
wants taken out of the Institute. Chief, Mister O‘Brien could use some assistance
getting the boat ready to get underway.”
He got
a chorus of ‘aye, aye’s’ and the men split to their respective tasks, allowing
him to resume his silent pacing.
It was
only an hour later when Nick Waskiewicz clambered down the control room ladder
to inform Crane that a friend of his had called with the information that the
FBI was asking the sheriff’s department to help secure the Institute. They’d be
there in about thirty minutes. Ready or not, it was time to leave.
Crane
stood for a moment, gathering himself, then began a rapid-fire string of orders
that sent Seaview’s crew scurrying to their positions. The last of the
passengers scrambled aboard as the crew began the process of casting off the
great gray submarine. They would gain a few moments, since one of the last acts
of the base maintenance personnel who were sailing with them had been to jam
all the access doors to the Seaview’s berth and disable the elevators.
It
didn’t take long for the hatches to be sealed and a hull pressurization test performed.
As the boat pulled away from her pier, she passed over one edge of the huge
submerged turntable that allowed the boat to turn completely around within the
constricted confines of her berth. Exiting however, was one of the few
maneuvers that didn’t require using the turntable and it‘s sliding track - all Seaview
had to do was swing slightly out from the pier at the bow and progress forward,
submerging as she did so, directly entering the access tunnel that led out to
the Santa Barbara Channel. Crane allowed himself a wry smile as the top of the
sail was swallowed by the water. The Admiral had been thinking ahead, even on
that design detail. They’d be in the Channel and out to sea before the FBI ever
made it down to the underground berth - and by the time the Feds could get the
Navy to respond, Seaview would be well out to sea in international
waters.
*********
Nelson
pressed as far back into the shadows behind the dumpster as he could get,
watching from the corner of his eye with dismay as yet another unmarked police
car cruised slowly by with it’s spotlight playing over the alley entrance. The
hunt was getting too close - several times in the last hour he and Haggen had
come perilously close to getting caught - and he had to wonder if their future
freedom wasn’t measured in minutes. From the pile of boxes on the other side he
could hear Haggen softly swearing.
“Pssst.
Admiral. Mr. Haggen.”
The
soft voice came from overhead. Startled, Nelson and Haggen both looked up to
see Patterson peering out of the second floor window of the building across the
alley from them. He pointed to the door just below on the first floor and
motioned that they should enter it. The two men looked at each other, then back
out at the street. The unmarked car was finally starting to move on. As soon as
the taillights had vanished the two darted across to the door. Finding it
unlocked, they quickly stepped inside, carefully closing it behind them just as
Patterson came down the stairs with the key to the deadbolt. Locking the door
behind them, he motioned for silence and led the way down the hallway to
another door. Opening it revealed another stairway that led downward into
another corridor, this time in the basement. Following it to the end, they
entered into a corner room. Once there Patterson closed the door behind them
and locked it, finally breathing a sigh of relief before leading the way to a
table and chairs where there was bottled water, a thermos of coffee and
sandwiches waiting.
Nelson
took that as a sign that it was safe to talk.
“Pat,
how the hell did you get here? And where’s Morton? Lee told me you stayed in
Kansas - he thought you were going to try to rescue Chip.” Nelson’s questions
came in rapid fire as he sorted through the food offerings and selected a ham
and cheese, then chose a cup from the assorted collection scattered around the
table.
Pouring
coffee for the two men as he spoke, Patterson answered. “I did get him out,
Admiral, with some help, but Mr. Morton was hurt bad enough that the Dawimhlar
took him back to one of their ships for medical care. They brought me here to
help rescue you and Mr. Haggen.”
“Hurt?”
A look of fury flashed into the Admiral’s blue eyes. “Who did it, Pat?”
“The
same people who dragged him off to the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary,” was
Patterson’s tight reply.
“What?!”
Both Nelson and Haggen were aghast at the revelation. “Leavenworth!”
“Yeah.
They beat him up pretty good and then locked him in solitary. Scathach and
Faileas helped me get him out, but before you worry about it, Admiral, we took
some pains to make it look like I was acting alone. I think they covered their
tracks pretty good. Oh, and Captain Crane did get Seaview out to sea
before the Feds showed up. The Dawimhlar have told me that Miss Angie and the
other secretaries went with them, along with your sister and a couple dozen of
the science and maintenance personnel.”
Grim
faced, Nelson shook his head and told him, “At this point I’m not sure I care
if Tobin and his lunatic friends know the Dawimhlar are involved. How many of
the crew made it back to the boat before they sailed?”
“It’s
my understanding, sir, that about half the crew was aboard. Captain Crane made
it volunteers only, so a few that have families stayed behind. The rest just
couldn’t make it back before she sailed. Also, there are rumors that some of
the families packed up and headed for Mexico or Canada.”
Nelson
put a hand to his forehead and sighed. “How did things get so out of hand?” he
asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Fear,
which breeds paranoia, which breeds irrationality,” said a new voice from
behind them, a voice full of odd undertones that echoed peculiarly off the
concrete walls of the room.
Nelson
stiffened, then slowly turned to face the newcomer. Coming out of the shadows
was a gray furred creature, short limbed and long bodied, with only a short,
gray and black plaid kilt-like skirt and unornamented black leather harness for
clothing. The silver eyes that gazed back at him were somber.
“Scathach,
I presume,” said Nelson dryly, looking over the being who’d inadvertently
turned his world upside down.
The
creature gave a short bow of acknowledgement. “And you are Admiral Harriman
Nelson and,” she nodded in Haggen’s direction, “Mr. Philip Haggen, Chief of
NIMR Security.”
“So
now what?” asked Nelson, cutting to the heart of the matter.
“First,
we get you out of the city and back to Seaview. What happens then
depends on just how well you know the President-elect - and how well he knows
Admiral Tobin.”
“Jimmy
Carter?” At first Nelson’s expression was one of bafflement, but as he turned
the idea around in his mind, examining it, a slow smile spread across his face.
Chuckling, he informed Scathach dryly, “Carter knows Tobin very well. Oh, yes,
very well indeed. We all went to the Naval Academy together.” Not to mention
a couple of duty stations together as well, Nelson thought to himself. Carter
knows Tobin quite well - and thoroughly detests the man. Which also explains
the sense of desperation in the search for myself and Haggen. Tobin and company
are up against a time limit.
She
spread her hands and smiled thinly at him. “Then we need only send your
President-elect a discrete message as to what is really going on and keep you
and your boat out of your enemies’ hands until Carter is sworn in in January.
After that I suspect that many changes in policy can be arranged.”
“Indeed,
but just how do you propose to do that? Lee Crane is a hell of a fine
submariner and Seaview an extraordinary vessel, but there’s no place on
earth we can hide for that long where the US Navy - or somebody’s Navy - can’t
find us.” Nelson knew that she was right about the changes that would take
place once Carter was sworn in, but they had to survive until then - and he had
no doubt that Tobin’s friends would be pulling out all the stops to try and
make sure that neither he nor Seaview was around to see it.
As her
smile expanded, Scathach nodded and said in a voice that was almost a purr, “As
you say - no place on earth.”
Harriman
Nelson felt his eyes grow wide. Wordlessly he pointed a finger skyward.
Scathach’s smile became a toothy grin.
In a distant part of his mind
Nelson heard the strangled squawk of disbelief from Haggen, but his
intellectual curiosity - his need to know - was suddenly at war with his sense
of caution. Perhaps at another time he wouldn’t have had to even think about
taking Scathach up on her offer, but these were hardly ordinary times, not with
parts of his own government out for his scalp. Not to mention that she was
suggesting taking Seaview and the boat’s crew along as well. If it had
only been himself… He licked suddenly dry lips. “I think this is something I’ll
need to talk to Captain Crane about, and perhaps the crew as well.”
“Not a problem, Admiral. We
will abide by whatever decision you make. In the meantime, we should get you
and Mr. Haggen back to Seaview. Perhaps you should contact your captain
and let him know what has happened.”
Nelson
couldn’t help the flinch as he and Haggen suddenly shared a knowing look. Crane
definitely wasn’t going to like the idea.
*********
Crane
stood behind Kowalski, an extra set of head phones against one ear as he
listened himself to the very faint sounds that told of the presence of a
Sturgeon class submarine running quietly to the seaward of them. Seaview
had gone to silent running and reduced her speed as soon as she’d cleared the
Santa Barbara Channel, turning north up the coast rather than heading out to
sea into international waters as one might expect. The presence of an attack sub
on their most logical exit course confirmed to Crane that his decision to hug
the coastline instead had been correct, but it chilled him to realize just how
quickly the hunters had been unleashed on their trail. He’d really expected it
to take much longer for the Navy to be called in. It further disturbed him that
the vessel seeking them was doing so with such deliberate stealth.
“Ski,”
he whispered, “do you have an ID on that boat yet?” The senior sonarman had
been scouring their sonar data base for a match to the acoustic signature of
the pursing sub.
“Just
now got it, sir,” said Kowalski in a low voice, “USS Pogy.”
“Goddamn
son of a bitch,” Crane swore under his breath, not intending for Kowalski or
Seaman Davis, the other sonar operator, to hear.
“Sir?”
Kowalski tilted his head to look up at the captain, concern and apprehension in
his eyes, his expression mirrored by Davis. Even though they knew that Crane
hadn’t intended to speak loud enough to be heard, the vehemence expressed in
the oath was unsettling.
“Commander
Ken Green is in command.” Crane sighed ruefully and added, “My own personal
Tobin.” Understanding blossomed on the two men’s faces and they nodded without
further comment, since Seaview’s entire crew was aware that the bad
blood between Tobin and Nelson had started when the two of them were still
midshipmen at the Naval Academy.
“So
he’s not out there to help us is he?” The question came from Davis.
“Not
hardly, Davis.” Pulling off the head phones, Crane handed them back to the sonarman
as he straightened up. Patting both men
on the shoulder, he simply said, “Keep track of him. He’s a much more competent
officer than Tobin, but just as amoral and ruthless.”
“Aye, sir,” the two men responded in unison,
then turned intently back to their stations. Crane stepped back towards the
periscope, intending to check on the other stations, when Kowalski suddenly
straightened up and hissed, “Skipper, we’ve got a target right next to us, less
than fifty yards and closing.”
Crane
snatched the headphones back up and hurriedly placed it to his ear. A very
faint, unusual yet vaguely familiar sound filtered through. As he furrowed his
forehead in puzzlement, he searched frantically through his memory for where he
might have heard it before. A matching look was on Kowalski’s face, but then he
suddenly snapped his fingers and sent his fingers flying over the computer
keyboard. The acoustic signature he pulled up proved to be a perfect match. At
Crane’s questioning look he grinned. “Remember that brief anomalous contact we
had that one time on the mission when we discovered the hydrothermal vents? It
bugged me enough that I saved it and kept looking at it, trying to figure out
what it was.”
“And
did you?”
“No,
but whatever it was is back …. and it looks like it’s maneuvering to close with
us.” Kowalski paused for a moment, listening, before turning to the captain.
“Sir, it’s not coming in fast like it was going to attack - it looks almost
like it may be trying to dock on our aft escape hatch.”
No
sooner had he spoken than a faint shudder ran through the boat, the effect of
having extra weight suddenly settle on her topside. Crane again took off the
headphones and this time grabbed the mike. “Sharkey,” he barked, “we’ve
apparently got company coming in the aft escape hatch. A security detail, now.”
“Aye,
sir,” came the quick answer, but Crane was already heading aft himself at a
dead run.
He
arrived just as the security team had assembled. Positioning themselves around
the hatch, they drew weapons and waited, while Crane hovered just beyond. Eyes
shifted between the hatch itself and the two lights just above, one red and one
green, that signaled to those in the room whether there was air or water in the
escape trunk. The light was currently green, indicating that the vessel that
had docked had a good seal over the outer hatch on Seaview’s hull. There
was now nothing but the hatches at each end of the escape trunk between whoever
was aboard the other boat and Seaview.
The
hatch wheel turned; all hands present tensed. The hatch swung slowly open,
revealing the occupants within.
Lee
Crane let out an explosive breath. “Admiral! Why didn’t you contact us so we’d
know it was you?”
Nelson
stepped over the rim of the hatch before answering. “My ride didn’t want to
risk being detected by your shadow.”
“The Pogy?
We know where she’s at.”
“Actually,
it’s the Haddock, who’s lying doggo on a shelf about five miles ahead
that they were worried about.”
“Shit!”
Crane grabbed the nearest mike. “Engineering, all stop.” He looked back at the
admiral. “Now what?”
“First,
Lee, we need to get Doc up here. Chip is with me and he’s somewhat the worse
for the wear.” Nelson stepped aside to reveal Haggen and Patterson supporting a
battered looking Morton. Jamison, who’d arrived just as Nelson had stepped out,
elbowed his way through the crewmen who’d crowded forward to greet their
Admiral.
“Step
back,” he ordered, “give me room here.” Obediently the men did so, allowing
Haggen and Patterson to help Morton into the compartment as someone produced a
stool for him to sit on. Nelson turned to close the hatch behind them, catching
Crane giving him a questioning look as he did so. Shaking his head to indicate
that this was not the time or place to discuss their unorthodox arrival, the
Admiral turned to the doctor.
“Jamie,
he’s been pretty badly beaten, but the doctors on the other, ah, boat said
there wasn’t anything life-threatening if he’d get adequate rest. They wanted
to keep him there, but he insisted on coming back to Seaview with us.
You know how stubborn he can be.”
Jamison
snorted and muttered something under his breath about the pot calling the
kettle black, which brought smiles to the faces of most who overheard. The
object of his comment simply arched his eyebrows and harrumphed as the doctor
gave him a sharp glance. “Chip,” the doctor addressed the blond officer more
gently, “do you want to try and walk to sick bay?” His answer was a slow nod.
Gesturing to Haggen and Patterson, Jamison told them, “Take it slow and I think
he’ll be alright.” The two designated helpers lifted Morton back on his feet
and a slow procession made its way out of the compartment into the corridor
headed for sickbay.
“Security
detail dismissed, sir?” The speaker was Sharkey.
Looking
at Nelson questioningly, Crane started to open his mouth to ask about the crew
of the vessel they’d arrived on, when the subtle shudder of the Seaview
gave notice that the visitor had disembarked, making the question moot. “Unless
the Admiral knows of any reason why not, I’d say so, Chief.”
“No,
Chief, go ahead and dismiss the detail,” replied Nelson.
“Okay,
you bozos, you heard the Admiral. Let‘s break it up here.” Grumbling
good-naturedly, the men complied and began to disperse back to their duty
stations.
“Lee,
we need to go to my cabin and talk.”
“But
what about those two subs hunting us, Admiral?” Crane had started out of the
compartment behind the crew, but paused in the hatchway at the Admiral’s
request.
“As
long as our, um, friends are here, they won’t be able to detect us
unless they get within fifty yards of us.”
Narrowing
his eyes, Crane gave the older man a glare. Dropping his voice low enough that
Sharkey and the men still in the corridor wouldn‘t overhear he asked in a
clipped voice, “That wouldn’t be more of the same friends from Sunday morning,
would it?” He’d been briefed on what had occurred the day before by Nick
Waskiewicz as soon as he’d arrived back from Kansas.
“I’m
afraid so, Lee. That’s one of the things we need to talk about.”
“I was
afraid of that,” Crane muttered as he stepped aside to allow Nelson to exit
before following him to his cabin.
It was
only a matter of minutes before the two men had reached the privacy of Nelson’s
cabin. Closing the door behind him, Crane settled on the edge of Nelson’s desk
and crossed his arms. Looking at him, Nelson shook his head and sighed before
sinking into his chair.
“How
much did Nick tell you about yesterday?”
“Pretty
much all he knew. That Chip’s non-human, ah, friends were the ones who actually
nailed Porter when she came after you and that they left a note asking you to
call them and talk. He also said that you let Ogg talked you into passing the
decision to call them upstairs - that’s how all this mess got started.”
“That’s
a pretty good summary,” admitted Nelson, “and you can add two more rescues to
their tally. They helped Pat spring Chip from Leavenworth and,” here he paused
to sigh, “snatched me and Haggen practically right out from under the noses of
the FBI in DC. Fortunately they have the knack of not being seen, so even
though Tobin and company are going to automatically assume alien influence,
they have no witnesses and no proof. A state of affairs the Dawimhlar would
prefer to maintain, as it happens.”
“Why?”
Crane’s question was blunt.
“Because
they feel that a significant portion of humanity is not yet mature enough for
open contact. That there are still too many people with attitudes like Tobin‘s.
That full contact with them, or any other of the more advanced races would do
to us what we have done in our own past to less technologically advanced human
cultures here. That even if the nonhuman races made no attempt to dominate us,
it would still shatter our society.” Nelson went silent for a moment, apparent
lost in reflection, then shook himself back to reality and continued. “I’m
convinced, Lee, that they do not wish us ill. They’ve had contact with this
world for a very long time.” At this point he smiled ruefully and added, “They
were, just as Chip thought, the source of the Selkie legends - or rather, the
humans who live with them were. Seems they also have a long history of rescuing
human strays. At least half of the crew on the starship we were briefly aboard
is human, including I might add, the captain. They’ve promised to brief me more
fully on their history, both human and Dawimhlar.”
“They
have humans among them? As full members of their society, yet they feel we’re
not mature enough for contact?”
“They
didn’t say all humans weren’t mature enough - just a significant enough
minority that it could severely disrupt society as we know it. They did hint
that most of their human citizens are many generations from earth. Apparently
some of the less technologically advanced societies in the past had less
trouble with the notion of sentient nonhumans than we do. They admit that it
has been something of a puzzle to them.”
“Maybe
they passed themselves off as gods,” suggested Crane, not entirely willing to
concede that their benefactors didn‘t have a hidden agenda.
“I
asked some of the human crewmen about that and they just laughed. Apparently
the Dawimhlar went to great pains to insure that didn’t happen, even
unintentionally.”
“Why
not? They could have gotten away with it for centuries, if not millennia.”
Crane’s skepticism was turning to bafflement.
“But
not forever. Scathach told me that they are firm believers in what goes around,
comes around. That there is a cosmic balance where everything is evened out in
the end.”
“The
what you sow, so shall you reap school?”
“Very
much so. I also gathered from my conversations that they’ve never had the
religious upheavals and changes so common to human history. They still follow
the same gods that their primitive ancestors did.”
Crane
let out a low whistle. “If that’s true, then they’re a helluva lot different
than us.”
“In
some ways that’s very true. But I couldn’t help but notice that in other ways
they are uncannily human.” Nelson paused momentarily, a troubled look in his
eyes. “I met one individual that I would be willing to swear was a hybrid
between Dawimhlar and human. Lee, the only way that could happen is if they are
actually related to humanity. That would mean that they would have had to come
originally from…”
“Earth?”
finished Crane for him, looking stunned. “Is it possible? Where would the ruins
of their cities be? Why hasn’t anyone found evidence of them?”
“They
are marine mammals, even if they are as I suspect, hominids,” said Nelson
slowly. “The further back in time one goes to the last ice age, the lower sea
levels were - perhaps as much as four hundred feet lower. I suspect that
anything they would have left behind has long since been swallowed by the sea.
There is probably very little left that one could look at and say with any real
certainty, this was not built by humans.”
“But
why did they leave?”
“That
is something I have yet to ask them. Which in a roundabout way, brings me to
the other subject I need to discuss with you.”
“Oh?”
The tone of Nelson’s voice put Crane on alert.
“It’s
become obvious that my enemies don’t intend for us to survive to defend
ourselves against the accusations they’re making.” Getting a reluctant nod of
agreement from Crane, Nelson continued. “They’re up against a deadline though.
Jimmy Carter and I were classmates at Annapolis, as was Tobin. That means
Carter knows both of us - and very well. Scathach is making arrangements for me
to get a message to Carter, but he’s not going to be able to do much until he’s
sworn in. That means we’ve got to stay alive and out of their hands until
January.”
“Shit,”
was Crane’s heartfelt reply. Jumping up from his seat on the edge of Nelson’s
desk, he began to furiously pace the length of the cabin. “That’s two months,
Admiral! And we’ve already got two hunters hot on our heels. Can the Dawimhlar
keep us hidden that long? And what about supplies? And the crew that didn’t get
back to the boat? What happens to them?”
“They’ve
offered us asylum, Lee.”
Crane
stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Nelson. “Are you talking about the
Dawimhlar?”
“Yes.”
“Asylum?
And just where….” Crane’s voice trailed off to a stunned silence as it dawned
on him just where Nelson might be speaking of going. “No way, Admiral! What
about the boat? And the crew? We can’t leave them here…”
Nelson
cut him off. “They aren’t proposing that we leave Seaview behind, or any
of the crew who wishes to go. They’ve even offered to help get the ones who
stay and their families to safe havens here on earth.”
“They
can do that?” The captain’s skepticism was evident in both his tone and
expression.
Shrugging,
Nelson replied, “I don’t know. But unless you’ve got a better idea, it may be
our best shot. They’re recalling most of their own people, irregardless of what
we decide. In addition, they’ve made it plain to me that they have no desire
for a confrontation with us - and I can tell you from what I’ve seen that their
technology is far superior to ours. If they wanted to press a fight with us -
we’d lose.”
“So
what’s their angle?”
“I
honestly don’t know. We don’t really have much that they could want.” Nelson
steepled his fingers as he considered the puzzle. “It may be that they figure
by maintaining a low profile and helping people who are open to their overtures
behind the scenes, that they can avoid a head-on collision with humanity when
we finally do make it to the stars. That by a little judicious intervention now
they might avoid large headaches in the future.”
“That
would make sense,” admitted Crane, coming back to sit again on the edge of
Nelson’s desk. “Is that why they’re so interested in Chip?”
“Actually,
the interest in Chip thus far appears to have been purely personal on
Scathach’s part. She felt a personal guilt in not getting there in time to save
Chip’s mother and sister from Smith, so she’s kept a discrete eye on him all
these years. When Smith reappeared to finish the job, so did she.”
“And
most spectacularly, too,” muttered Crane, recalling in his mind’s eye the
vision of the stolen truck catapulting down the side of the steep canyon, boxes
of canned goods flying.
“That
it was,” noted Nelson, recalling the spectacular ending to the chase himself.
“However, it seems that their political interest lies in the two of us.
I’ve gathered from some of their comments that our actions with that alien ship
we encountered last year favorably impressed them. They were hoping to begin
unofficial, low level contacts that could eventually lead to some kind dialog
with our government.”
“And
now Tobin and company have blown that out of the water,” snorted Crane, looking
disgusted.
“Not
entirely. They feel that Tobin’s group does not represent the will of the
majority - that they are in fact only a small fanatical faction. The Dawimhlar
appear to be prepared to wait and try again later, after Carter is sworn in.”
“So
what role do they want us to play in this?”
“Go
betweens. Which I suspect is another reason they’re willing to offer sanctuary.
It gives them the moral high ground, reaps our personal gratitude, and
generates good will amongst our families and friends. And, should this mess
ever become public, allows them to cast themselves in the role of good
Samaritans.”
“That’s
all well and good, but Admiral Tobin and his cronies aren’t going to give up
gracefully,” warned Crane, waving a hand for emphasis.
“I
know,” sighed Nelson, “and so do the Dawimhlar. It’s going to get even nastier
than it already has, but fortunately, all the parties concerned seem to want to
stay out of the public eye. At least for the present.”
“So
they have offered to take Seaview where? To their home planet? A base
here in the solar system?”
“Their
primary planet. And before you ask, they have told me they have two main
worlds, in two different solar systems, and colonies on three more, plus assorted
scientific stations scattered across many more. They’ve said we are free to
visit any of them if we take them up on their offer.” There was a wistful note
in Nelson’s voice that Crane couldn’t miss.
“And
you believe them?” He knew that the Admiral’s scientific curiosity sometimes
overwhelmed his common sense and reverently hoped that wasn’t happening now.
“Haggen
seems to think they’re being pretty honest with us. Perhaps you should get his
views before you make any decision.”
“Haggen?”
Surprise colored the captain’s voice. Haggen was the sort who never took
anybody at face value. If the Dawimhlar had managed to convince him of their
good intentions they were either being honest or were very, very good at lying.
“He thinks they’re on the level?”
“So he
says to me. Oh, he also said to tell you that Pat is obviously working with the
Dawimhlar - and probably has been all along.” He held up a hand to forestall an
outburst as a quick look of outrage flashed into Crane‘s eyes and continued,
“But not apparently as a spy. Rather, Haggen thinks they’ve had him here as
Chip’s watchdog and guardian.”
Which
actually made a lot of things that Pat had done on Chip’s behalf make sense. He
blinked as he suddenly realized that he himself had a similar watchdog in
Kowalski, just as Nelson did in Sharkey. “What about Kowalski and Sharkey?”
Grinning,
Nelson replied, “That thought occurred to me as well, but Haggen thinks not,
although Pat may have inspired them or even encouraged them in it. It appears
the Dawimhlar have a lot invested in our well-being. I for one am curious to
see just exactly what their plans for the future are.”
“Could
they have arranged for this little blow-up to get us into their hands?” Crane
still wasn’t completely convinced.
“Not
unless they knew that Ogg would be the agent in charge of the investigation and
that he’d manage to convince me to pass a decision about contacting them to the
President,” said Nelson with a sigh. “I’m afraid that this mess is my fault,
that I had a momentary lapse of judgment.” Grimacing, he added wryly, “Not the
first time, I’m afraid.”
Crane’s
only response was a grunt.
********
Harriman
Nelson stood on the observation deck of the starship Soese and looked at
the earth floating just above the rim of the moon. It was a sight he’d only
seen pictures of - he’d never dreamed that he might one day actually get to see
the sight with his own eyes. He just wished it had been under different
circumstances.
Sighing,
he turned to Scathach. “Are all of the Seaview’s crew settled?”
“Aye,
Admiral. You have an extraordinarily dedicated crew, you know. I was rather
surprised that so many of them chose to come with you.”
Nelson
shrugged. “Lee chose to come. He’s the one who commands their real loyalty.”
Cocking
her head to one side, Scathach arched a tufted eyebrow. “I think you sell
yourself short, Admiral, after all, you have been able to earn his
loyalty have you not?”
“I
suppose so.” His tone was lackluster.
She
stepped closer and spoke softly. “Second thoughts, Admiral?” At his nod she
placed a hand on his shoulder, showing her understanding and sympathy. “It is
only natural. This adventure is not one of your own choosing - circumstances
forced you into it.” She smiled at him as she added, “And we took advantage.”
“It
was my choice to pass the decision the President.”
“True
enough. But I should have considered the possibility of that happening and made
allowances. There is blame enough to go around, but in the long run, I do not
believe that it will derail the eventual peaceful contact between our
governments. Besides, your people are all safe now, either here aboard or
hidden away on earth.”
“For
which I am eternally grateful,” said Nelson, with heartfelt sincerity. “I guess
I just feel…” he trailed off uncertainly.
“Betrayed?”
suggested Scathach. The short, unhappy nod was answer enough. “To a certain
extent I suppose you have been. But hopefully it is not a permanent condition.
In the meantime…. consider the opportunity that awaits. You have a good ship,
with nearly a full crew - and the universe beckons.”
Obviously, the tale continues….