The Trouble With Liberty

By R. L. Keller

(Presented for the Picture Contest “The Bridge”.  A little creative license was taken with the park.)

 

 

 

Lt. Cdr. Charles P. Morton, Chip to his friends, had his head buried in a desk full of reports when he heard a tap on his open office doorway.  Glancing up, he spotted his secretary looking a bit pensive. “Yes, Elana?”

“Angie asked if you could come to her desk,” was said a bit hesitantly, and Chip realized that he was no doubt responsible.  He’d been in a bit of a mood when he’d gotten in that morning, and while trying hard not to take it out on her, had still made it clear that he didn’t want to be disturbed.  Both Admiral Nelson, head of the Nelson Institute of Marine Research, and Cdr. Lee Crane, who captained NIMR’s research submarine, Seaview, which Chip XO’d, were out of the office for several days, leaving Chip to deal with an overabundance of NIMR details that the three men usually shared.  Angie, Nelson’s P.A. and acknowledged head of NIMR in the Admiral’s absence, was dealing with as much as she could, but that still left Chip with much more than he was used to.

“She didn’t say why?” Chip tried not to growl.

“No, sir.”

Chip sighed.  “Tell her I’m on my way.”

“Yes, sir,” Elana said, relief in her voice, and she instantly disappeared.

Probably crashed her computer, and called me instead of the tech’s, Chip muttered silently, but acknowledged that he brought that job down on himself.  He could usually diagnose and fix computer issues faster than NIMR’s technicians, themselves no slouches or they wouldn’t have been hired to work here, so Angie tended to call him first if he was available.  He finally allowed a smile to appear and headed down the hallway to Angie’s desk, in a fairly large waiting area outside Admiral Nelson’s office.

But the woman wasn’t there.  The Admiral’s office door was open so Chip poked his head inside.  “What’s up?” he asked, finding Angie standing next to his boss’ desk.

“You haven’t heard from Admiral Nelson, have you?”  It came out half-question, half-demand, and snapped the smile off of Chip’s face.

“No,” came the simple answer, and waited for what was apparently upsetting the woman.

“He was supposed to call this morning to go over several department reports he’s been waiting for.”

Chip shrugged.  “Isn’t he visiting old friends in Florida?  He probably just got busy with them and forgot.”

Angie frowned.  “He never forgets anything,” she told him flatly.

“True,” Chip admitted with a quick grin.  “Did you try calling him?”

“Wanted to check with you first.”

“Which you could have done with a quick call,” Chip told her, curiosity now evident in his voice.

“Called Elana because I wasn’t sure where you were.  She said…”  Angie let the sentence die.

Chip nodded.  “Was in a snit when I got in,” he admitted.  “Lee’s out of the country visiting his Mom while she’s on assignment and, with the Admiral gone as well, I got dumped with way more paperwork than I like.”  They both grinned ever so slightly.

“Such is life at the top,” Angie teased him.  He sent her a smile and a shrug.

“Is there anything urgent?” he got back on topic.

“Nothing that I can’t handle for now,” she admitted.  Chip’s grin spread; there wasn’t much that the woman couldn’t handle, under any circumstances!

“Why don’t you try his cell,” he suggested, and leaned against the door frame as if to give her moral support.  The Admiral didn’t always appreciate being interrupted.

But the call went straight to voicemail.  “Any more ideas?” she asked.

“Call his friend’s house?  I’m assuming that he left you the number.”  She nodded and they returned to her desk, where she’d left that information.

But no one answered, and apparently they didn’t have either voicemail or an answering machine.  She hung up after ten rings.  “Next?” came out a bit snidely.

Chip merely shrugged.  “Wait and try later,” was the best that he could come up with.  Angie reluctantly nodded, and Chip went back to his office.

He heard nothing more on the subject, and in fact didn’t even give it another thought.  His brain was filled with half a dozen NIMR Department demands for supplies, and he was doing his best to coordinate everything into one overly large order instead of everything separate.  His organized brain decided that was the best, and cheapest, way to satisfy everyone – NIMR’s accountants included.

“Sir?” got his attention, and he looked up to find Elana standing in his doorway.  “Need anything before I leave?”

Chip glanced at his watch and was thoroughly amazed to discover that it was nearly 1830 hours.  He shook his head and sent her an apologetic smile.  “You’re already late leaving.”

She sent the smile back.  “Just finished the last of the reports you needed typed, so not a problem,” she assured him.

“Then see you in the morning, Elana.  And thanks.”  She nodded and disappeared from view.  Only a couple of minutes later there was another tap.  Chip didn’t look up.  “Forget something, Elana?”

“I still can’t reach the Admiral.”  It was Angie, not Elana, and Chip startled ever so slightly before sighing heavily and leaning back in his chair. 

“Weird.”

“Most unusual,” she agreed.

“You tried the friend again?”

“Still no answer.”

“Harrumph,” came out a soft growl.

“My sentiments exactly,” she muttered in return.

“Where does his friend live?  I’m not sure he ever said exactly where he was going.”

“Jacksonville, but he mentioned wanting to go to ‘Blue’ something or other; where a lot of manatees go to winter over in warmer waters.”

“Blue Springs State Park, north of Orlando,” Chip said instantly.  “And please don’t ask me how I came up with that.”  They both chuckled softly.  Any time spent around Admiral Nelson usually meant that you ended up with all sorts of eclectic information floating around in your brain.

“Now what?” Angie asked, frustration evident.

Chip once more shrugged.  “I guess we wait until tomorrow and hope that he got his days mixed up.”  She frowned but finally nodded.

But neither had an easy night, and it showed on both faces as Chip passed Angie’s desk on the way to his office the next morning.  He raised an eyebrow, she shook her head, he shrugged and continued on.

He checked in again as he headed to the cafeteria on the Admin. Building’s main floor for lunch.  “I’m starting to get worried,” Angie admitted.

“Have to admit this isn’t like the Admiral,” Chip agreed.  “Really strange that there’s also no answer at the friend’s house.  Who is it, by the way?”

“Dr. Shirley Farwell.”  Chip raised an eyebrow at the feminine name and a soft smile hit his face.  “She does manatee research through the Tampa Bay Aquarium.”

“And she lives in Jacksonville?”  Angie’s turn to shrug.  “I suppose, if she does a lot of fieldwork,” Chip continued, “she could live just about anywhere and do a lot of her reporting with a computer.”

“Makes as much sense as anything else,” Angie agreed.

A smirk hit Chip’s face.  “If you’re suggesting that I go track him down, and he’s with her, ah…”  He didn’t finish the sentence, merely continued to grin broadly.

“Good point,” Angie agreed, and Chip headed once more for lunch.

But by the next morning, with still no answer from either Nelson or his friend, Chip suggested contacting the Tampa Bay Aquarium to see if they’d heard from either Farwell or Nelson.  Unfortunately, Angie hit a dead end there as well.  She was told that Dr. Farwell was on vacation, and not expected back for at least two weeks.  That raised both her’s and Chip’s eyebrows.  But it still didn’t explain why neither phone was being answered, not even to leave a voicemail note that they would be away and to leave a message.

Before she hung up, Chip told her to ask for Dr. Farwell’s cell number, or an email address.  Aquarium staff was unwilling to give out that information, which Angie totally understood.  She told whoever she was talking to, to do what she would do given the same situation: hang up, look up NIMR’s listed phone number so they knew it was a legitimate query from NIMR, and ask for Admiral Nelson’s office.  That way they’d get connected back to Angie.  It took a few minutes, but she carefully answered the phone when it rang as she always did.  “Admiral Nelson’s office,” came out in her most pleasant voice, although Chip could see her face and cringed ever so slightly.  Mostly Angie listened, did write down something, but then rather abruptly hung up.  “They tried Dr. Farwell’s cell before calling back,” she told Chip.  “No answer there either; straight to voicemail, with no opening statement.”  She sighed.  “But she did give me the number.”

“Are they worried?” Chip wanted to know

“Didn’t seem to be,” she told him with a frown.

“Harrumph,” Chip repeated his grump from the day before.

“Agreed,” came the reply.  Neither said anything for a couple of minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Where’s the nearest place to the park where I can land FS1 and rent a car?” Chip finally asked.  Angie turned to her computer and Chip walked to where he could look over her shoulder.  Both realized the implications if they really did foul up Nelson’s vacation plans.  But they both were willing to risk it, action being preferable to non-action even if it did get them in trouble.  They could always fall back on the idea that Nelson had brought the invasion of privacy on himself by being unreachable.  Although, both knew only too well that they’d still be in Nelson’s dog house!

* * * *

At 0400 the following morning Chip landed the Flying Sub at Orlando International Airport, and quickly tucked it into a pre-arranged private hanger.  Using the Admiral’s name frequently came in extremely useful!  That hour of the morning, and at this late Fall time of year, Chip kept his black leather flight jacket on, not entirely because it also displayed his rank.  Pre-arranged rental car at the ready, along with maps of the area and GPS on his phone, he headed north to Orange City, the closest town to Blue Springs park.  He did try Nelson’s cell phone once more before he took off but was dismayed this time to get, not voicemail, but the ‘Out of Service’ robo-message.  All he could do was shake his head and head north.

He didn’t really even know if he was headed in the right direction.  He and Angie only had Nelson’s original comment about his destination.  He could be anywhere in the world as far as Chip knew.  But he had to start somewhere, and this was as good a place as any.

He made a quick stop when he got to Orange City, for breakfast and to check with the local police for any reports that might tie in to the Admiral.  His meal was at best okay, and there was nothing to indicate Nelson’s presence in the area.  In an even worse mood he headed for the park, hoping for something better in the way of intel from the park Rangers.

Finally he got lucky.  Sort of, anyway.  The couple of Rangers he found both knew Dr. Farwell, and one of them remembered seeing her four days previous with a man that fit Nelson’s description.  They both were wearing small day-packs, had used Dr. Farwell’s kayak, and headed along a tributary of the St. John’s river into the park.  Neither Ranger had seen them since.  Chip questioned if Dr. Farwell’s car was still there.  Neither one seemed to know for sure, but pointed Chip in the direction of which parking lot she’d used.  Chip wasn’t overjoyed at their lack of interest, not caring if it showed, and one of the Rangers finally admitted that they were so used to the researcher coming and going that they pretty much left her alone.  Chip had to agree that that made perfect sense, and headed to track down the described vehicle, a dark gray Suburban with a roof rack.

Almost disturbingly, he found it right where the Rangers told him that they’d seen it, looking like it hadn’t moved for at least a couple of days, maybe more, and he considered his options.  He could go rent a kayak and try to follow where the pair might have gone, but he didn’t even know which direction of the river they’d taken.  He did see, close by, one of the multitude of raised wooden trails through a good part of the park’s swampy grounds that the Rangers maintained.  They’d given him a map, just because they gave all visitors one.  He took it out of the pocket he’d stashed it in, figured out where he was, and took off.  Right this instant it was the best that he could manage.

He figured that not finding anyone else on the trails wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.  He was fairly sure that, while there were enough activities in the park for year-round usage, it no doubt had its busiest time from December until March or so, when the majority of manatees would be present.  It was still a bit early for them to be making their way up the passageways to the warmer waters of the springs.  If he hadn’t been so worried, he would have actually enjoyed his hike.  The swampland over which he walked, sometimes on the planked trails and sometimes on graveled land, was filled with the pleasing sights and sounds of nature.  A little buggy, to be sure, but he’d walked in worse.

He was on a bridge, crossing from one spot of dry land to another, and nearly to the end of this trail according to the map which he’d stuck back in his pocket, when ‘something’ caught his eye off to his left across an area that looked several feet deep in water.  He stared for a second, not sure now what had caught his eye.  But a yell had him leaning on the bridge’s railing, trying to see through the trees all around.

“Anybody there?” he yelled back.

“Thank heavens,” a female voice came back.  “Our kayak tipped over and sank, and my friend sprained an ankle so we couldn’t try to walk out.  You’re the first person to come this deep into the park in four days.  We were beginning to wonder if we’d ever be found.”

Chip finally got a chance to get a word in.  “Who are you?”

“Oh,” came back a bit bashfully.  “I’m Shirley Farwell.  My friend is Harry Nelson.  Our phones got wet when we overturned and we couldn’t call for help.”

Chip took a deep breath.  “Admiral?” he finally yelled.

There was a short pause.  “Chip?” came back almost in Nelson’s normal voice.  “How the devil…”

“Suppose I go get help, and we sort it all out later,” Chip suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” came back with an almost chuckle, and Chip hurried back to his car.

* * * *

It took the rest of the day, and into the evening, before the whole story got told.  Chip took another glance at the trail map to make sure he knew exactly where he was and hurried back to the Ranger Station, making a quick call to Angie on the way.  She wanted details and wasn’t overly happy when Chip put her off.  He merely told her that he had, indeed, found Nelson, although pretty much by accident, and said that she’d no doubt hear all about it sooner rather than later.

Once advised of the problem, the two Rangers proved their worth and had a rescue plan in the works almost immediately.  There wasn’t easy boat access to that specific spot so Chip followed their rig back to the closest place to the spot they could park, and helped what he could as the Rangers worked their way through the wetland to the island Dr. Farwell and Admiral Nelson had found themselves stuck on.  The Rangers had brought backpacks full of water bottles, protein bars, and first aid supplies.  Farwell and Nelson had a few things in their own day packs that had survived the dunking, but both were extremely happy for the food and water.  Nelson’s ankle turned out to be dislocated, not merely sprained.  Chip rolled his eyes that Nelson wasn’t in a worse temper than he was exhibiting because of the pain.  Not to mention the lack of caffeine and nicotine from the coffee and cigarettes that he’d been without!  Nelson caught the expression as they were getting the pair back to the Ranger’s and Chip’s vehicles, and Chip was finally explaining how he’d ended up getting there in the first place, and Nelson sent him a quick grimace but remained silent.

Once back at the rigs some negotiations were required.  The Rangers wanted both Nelson and Farwell to be checked out at the nearest hospital.  Besides Nelson’s ankle, both were badly bug-bitten, not to mention dehydrated.  Neither had an issue with a quick check but Nelson, since he knew FS1 was close, would have preferred to simply have Chip take him home; he’d lasted this long, he could put up with the issues a little longer.  Chip stayed quiet.  It was always a wise idea for NIMR personnel to not get caught in the crossfire of a ticked off Admiral!

Nelson eventually got part of his wish – or rather rant.  At the hospital he was given a quick, short-acting, sedative so that his ankle could be snapped back in place.  Once that was done and taped securely, and both he and Dr. Farwell had had a check of blood work, IV fluids to get their systems better hydrated, and their insect bites checked and treated, the doctors wanted both to spend the night under observation.  Nelson was having none of that – period!  Chip earned one of the Admiral’s fiercest glares when he, standing to one side, quietly called Jamie and then handed his cell phone to the local doctor.  Unrepentant, he squared his shoulders as the local man explained everything to NIMR’s CMO.  Chip, only able to hear one side of the conversation, could only guess what Jamie was saying, but he did catch the change of expressions on the local’s face.  Apparently the Admiral did as well because Chip, chancing a glance over, saw him gradually calm down.

Finally the local handed the phone back to Chip with a “He wants to talk to you.”

“Hi, Jamie,” Chip answered.  “Sorry to interrupt your dinner.”  2130 hours here meant 1830 hours at home.  He decided that a little irreverence, under the circumstances, would hopefully help both Will Jamison and Admiral Nelson calm down.  It apparently worked with Jamie because he sent Chip a quick snicker.  Chip decided not to look Nelson’s direction just yet.

“How long to get him back here.” Will demanded, back to business.

“Two hours or so to Orlando, where I left FS1. An hour to get going, what with returning the rental car…”  He almost lost his train of thought as there was a growl from Nelson’s direction.  “And three hours home.  Call it midnight or thereabouts.”

“I’ll be waiting,” and the connection was abruptly closed.  Chip slipped the phone back in its holder and faced the local doctor.  “That works for you, Doctor.”  He’d straightened up and made the comment not a question.  While Nelson was in civvies, although there wasn’t much doubt of rank, Chip still had his jacket on, now unsnapped revealing Chip’s uniform rank insignia.  Apparently the doctor had enough military exposure to surrender to the inevitable.

“Apparently it has to be,” the man grumbled.  But once the decision was taken out of his hands he cooperated nicely and got Nelson ready for transport.

They were delayed by about fifteen minutes, as Nelson wanted to check on Dr. Farwell.  Chip hung back, but most of the quick conversation had to do with how she was feeling, and telling her that he’d try to get back in a few weeks; to just leave the small suitcase of clothes in a closet, there was nothing he needed until he could get back to pick it up.

The trip home was mostly made in silence.  Chip wasn’t about to ask Nelson what had happened, and Nelson didn’t offer any information beyond what Chip already knew.  He had ordered, on the drive back to Orlando, that Chip stop at the first mini-mart he saw and buy cigarettes and the largest cup of coffee they had!

They were almost back to Santa Barbara when Chip heard a soft snort from the co-pilot’s seat, and chanced a quick glance in that direction.  “You do know,” Nelson told him, sending him half a smile, “what the first thing out of Will’s mouth is going to be.”

Chip risked a smile.  “That you’ve become as bad as Lee; can’t take a vacation without coming back hurt.”  The pair was still laughing half an hour later when Chip settled the small craft into her dockside berth.

 

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