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….