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.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~